


People Like Us

by MundaneChampagne



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Betrayal, Cecelia gets a new name, F/F, Lizzy finally gets her tiara, Politics, Post-Game, Seriously most everyone is dead, The Highest Chaos, The Loyalists loom large in Cecelia's mind, and she will not make the same mistakes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-09-12 11:40:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9070060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MundaneChampagne/pseuds/MundaneChampagne
Summary: All Cecelia wants is to escape Dunwall and start a new life. All Lizzy Stride wants is to hunker down, survive the winter, and forget about Wakefield's betrayal. Fate has other plans.When the city is crumbling around them, what does it take to survive?Updates Tuesdays.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Been at work on this for over a year! Winter has rolled around again and I'm in the mood for some snow, so let's give this a whirl. :)
> 
> This piece takes place after the first game in highest chaos. No Dis2 spoilers here.
> 
> Currently on a lookout for a beta for this piece! If you're interested, hit me up, and we will work wonders.

It was raining in Dunwall.

The Wrenhaven was deserted. The only person out in this weather was a woman standing and poling a lifeboat upstream. Mist rose from the surface of the water.

The boat was nearly swamped, and its pilot struggled to keep it from tipping her into the river. Finally, after a valiant effort, the boat rolled to the side and she landed in the water with a splash. She resurfaced and pulled herself on a partially sunken dock, and lay there, shivering.

Lightning cracked. The storm was almost overhead.

Someone poked her with a pointy object. She rolled over, shivering, and looked up at the tattooed thugs standing over her. The one poked her again with a large curved hook. "Look what the river coughed up this time," he said.

"Please," Cecelia whispered.

"What should we do with her? Feed her to the rats?"

"Please…I just need to get upriver. I just need to get out of the city."

"Always so polite when they want something," the man said. He turned to the scrawny woman next to him. If anything, she looked even fiercer than he. "What do you think, Annabelle?"

"They're like rats fleeing a sinking ship," said Annabelle. "I don't see why we can't make something out of that."

The man snorted. "We're not running a refugee service."

Annabelle shrugged. "Whatever. Thought you wanted to get paid this week. What with business being so bad—"

"Fine," the man said. He reached down and picked Cecelia up by the collar of her jacket and set her on her feet. Cecelia wrapped her jacket tightly around her, clutching her sodden hat. "Listen, rat bait," the man said, "You wanna get out of Dunwall? We'll take you to the boss. You can negotiate with her."

Cecelia nodded miserably as she followed them along the wharf.

 

The grey ship sat low in the water, its hulking form dominating the docks. More of the tattooed sailors kept watch, leaning up against crates. They all carried the nasty hooks.

They led her aboard the ship, and into the bridge. A stick of a woman stood with her back to them, going over logbooks. The man cleared his throat, and the woman turned around. "The rats left this scrap behind," he said. "She wants outta the city."

The woman grinned, revealing alarmingly pointed teeth. "Rat Scrap, eh?"

Cecelia shrunk back, wondering what she'd gotten herself into. "I need to leave," she said.

"Everyone needs to leave," the woman said. "This city's tearing itself to bits."

"Please—my life is in danger. They can't find me!"

"Who's got it out for you, Rat Scrap?"

"The Lord Regent," Cecelia whispered. "Admiral Havelock. He forgot about me when he killed everyone, but he might come back. I can't—I can't risk it."

The woman whistled. "High profile enemies, huh. Tell you what. I make regular runs past the blockade. We're leaving in two days. I smuggle goods all the time, why not people? What'cha offering?"

Cecelia looked down. "I have no money."

The woman frowned. "Not exactly a convincing case."

Cecelia met the woman's eyes in a last ditch effort. "I have skills," she said. "I work hard. I can cook, I can clean, I can do laundry. I'll work hard and won't get in anybody's way and won't say a word."

The man laughed, but the scary woman had a thoughtful look on her face. "Cleanin', huh," she said, holding up a hand to silence the man. "Now see, whenever I tell my people to clean, they say, 'but Lizzy, everything's just gonna get dirty again.' I could use someone to clean. You tidy this place up for a few days, I give you a boat ride. Sound good?"

Cecelia had gone white upon realizing who she was speaking to. Lizzy Stride was famously not to be messed with. But this was her only option. "That's fine. Thank you."

Lizzy grinned widely, showing off her teeth. "Annabelle, get her a mop."

 

The cargo hold was disgusting. Cecelia went through shards of broken glass, cobwebs, rat droppings, and general layers of filth. Eventually, you could see some of the ship's steel underneath the grime.

The rain didn't let up. It thundered on the deck above her, some drips working their way through the bulkheads. The dampness wore on Cecelia's nerves. The work was mindless, leaving her plenty of time to think.

Corvo had gone. She'd seen a flare from the old tower and as the guards scrambled to the waterfront, she'd taken her chance and run. Made it out of the Old Port District, stolen a lifeboat, and guided the boat down the river. Wherever Corvo had gone, she hoped that he'd succeeded.

But until the news got to her, she couldn't take any chances.

She scrubbed herself into a state of exhaustion, then poked her head above deck. The rain had slowed to a drizzle. Cecelia made her way up to the bridge, cautious of Lizzy's crew. None of them seemed to be around, however.

She found Lizzy sitting cross-legged on the controls, staring out at the river. Lizzy turned around when Cecelia lightly tapped on the doorframe. "Rat Scrap," she said. "Can I see myself in the metal yet?"

"I'm getting there," Cecelia said. She refrained from any further remarks. "It's much better than it was, and after tomorrow, it'll be even better."

Lizzy grinned. "Good. Now get some sleep." She slid off the controls and rummaged through a small box, tossing Cecelia a threadbare blanket. "Anywhere's fine, my people won't bother you." She also came up with a small tin of biscuits. Cecelia took the offerings, astonished. This was not the woman she expected from the wanted posters.

"I take care of my people," Lizzy said, noticing the look on Cecelia's face. "Feed 'em, scare 'em into line, pay 'em, and give 'em plenty of adventure. It works. Last time someone betrayed me, my people were _overjoyed_ to have me back."

Cecelia nodded. This day had just been too overwhelming for her.

She curled up in the cargo hold on top of several crates, and shut her mind off in the way that she'd learned in order to keep sleeping when there was so much shit to worry about.

 

She finished the cargo hold in the morning and moved on to the main deck. The morning was grey and foggy, but at least it wasn't still raining. Steam rose off the river.

Shortly before noon, a crew member poked her with that hook. "You're doin' good, Rat Scrap," she said. "I never realized how uninhabitable the old girl was getting."

Cecelia nodded her thanks, careful not to antagonize.

"Oh also the boss wants to see you," the woman said, and marched away.

Cecelia winced and braced herself for a scolding.

Lizzy's face was grim. "I don't think you have to worry about that boat ride anymore."

"What happened?" Cecelia asked.

"Havelock's dead. The High Overseer is dead. The Prime Minister is dead. Unless you've somehow managed to get on the bad side of any other powerful people, you're home free."

Cecelia stumbled back, her mind reeling. "All dead? Then he did it!" Her heart pounded. "And Lady Emily, they're crowning her Empress soon, right? With Corvo?" She nearly laughed in relief. "It'll be ok. Everything will be ok."

Lizzy stared at her. "Lady Emily is dead too."

The bottom dropped out from Cecelia's world. "What _happened_?" she whispered.

"Some sort of altercation. They _think_ what happened is that Havelock tried to seize control of the girl, and Martin and Pendleton fought each other to try and get her back. Havelock jumped from the lighthouse on Kingsparrow island, taking the girl with him."

"That can't be." Cecelia stared at Lizzy, trying to figure things out. As if Lizzy could provide the answers she was seeking. "I don't—Corvo was supposed to make everything _right_. He was going to save Emily."

Lizzy scratched the back of her neck. "I dunno, Rat Scrap. _Someone_ slaughtered all the guards on the island. And Attano? Wasn't he going around in some mask, killing off half the city? If he's still alive, I expect he's long gone." She sighed. "Look, Rat Scrap. I'll give you that boat ride if you want it. But if you don't, I completely understand. And if you don't, I owe you a thing. Even Logan was raving about how clean it is around here. I'm not gonna go back on a deal. So just say the word and I'll do what I can.

"But me? I'd recommend getting out of here. The city's going to tear itself apart before long."

Cecelia was reeling. "I—I don't—I'll let you know." She stumbled back to the cargo bay, where she curled up behind a crate, and stared into nothingness.

 

Cecelia went back to cleaning after an hour or so. She couldn't stand inaction—she needed to do something. She threw all her sorrow and fear and discontent into the work.

By the evening, the _Undine_ sparkled. The Dead Eels all lined up to pat Cecelia on the back and thank her for getting them out of having to do the same work.

It all felt hollow. There was nothing _left_. She had no job. No place to stay. No friends in the world. And soon Dunwall would be gone too. Sank into the muck of the Wrenhaven. Overrun by plague. Torn apart by the aristocracy scrambling for what was left.

Her usual technique of sleeping through despair eluded her that night. She kept turning over trying to get comfy. The crates in the _Undine_ were not as comfy as that scratchy bed at the Hound Pits.

The Hound Pits. Even the thought made her want to cry.

Finally she was drawn out of her reverie. Something was scratching around in the hold.

Rat?

No. Rats didn't swear that colorfully.

A lantern flickered to life. Lizzy loomed out of the dark, a bottle clutched in her hand. "Can't sleep?" she rasped.

Cecelia sat up on the crate. "You startled me."

Lizzy shrugged. "Sorry, Rat Scrap." She took a swig from the bottle and held it out. "I been worrying too."

Cecelia took the bottle, and after a short hesitation, lifted it to her lips. Whatever spirit it was burned on the way down. "Worrying about what?"

Lizzy sat down next to her. "I've survived some rough shit. Plague. Regime change. Pandyssia. But never a total power vacuum. Word's on the streets. Geoff Curnow is dead. The City Watch is splintering. Forming their own little gangs, getting paid by nobility." She spat. Cecelia winced. The floor was newly clean.  

"They found Anton Sokolov's body," she added. "This shitty little pub in a quarantined district. His manufacturers can keep making elixir, but now there's gonna be fights over who owns the formula. Supplies might not be steady. And that means that ol' Slackjaw's operation is in trouble."

Cecelia passed the bottle back. "Did they…find any other bodies when they found Sokolov?" she asked.

Lizzy shrugged. "Dunno. I sent some of my people out to gather intel. I've got Draper's Ward under lockdown. Nobody's coming in here if I can help it."

Cecelia looked at her lap. "About that deal."

"Yeah?"

"I don't have any place to go. I don't know what I'd do." She looked up. "I'll keep cleaning, I promise. All I want is to stay safe."

Lizzy snorted. "I can't promise that, Rat Scrap. My line of work is not safe. But I'll tell you what. You can stay here. I'll feed ya, pay ya. And with my people around, this is probably one of the safer spots in Dunwall at the moment. I'm not letting go of what I have."

Cecelia nodded. "I'd appreciate that." Her voice broke.

"Hey." Lizzy turned to her. "You ok?"

Cecelia broke down into tears. Lizzy looked alarmed, and carefully patted her on the back. "I didn't think it would end like this," Cecelia choked. "I thought somehow everything would work out. I'm scared. I'm really scared."

Lizzy awkwardly hugged her. "Look," she said. "You seem good at surviving. I'm good at surviving too. And my people, they'd face down the Outsider himself if I asked them to. We'll get through things."

A gang member poked his head from around a crate. "Boss—"

"Not now!" Lizzy screamed at him. He quickly retreated.

Cecelia smiled through her tears.

"We're making a cargo run tomorrow," Lizzy said. "Getting out of the city should do everyone some good. Nothing like the breezes on the 'haven to blow everyone's troubles away." She took another swig from the bottle and let Cecelia go. "Be ready to sail in the morning, Rat Scrap."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on OCs! Tessa is mine. I skimmed her up from a different fic that I never finished.
> 
> Lincoln is not mine. He is based on the character from Suzan-Lori Parks's _Topdog/Underdog_. I was curious as to what the character might've been like earlier in his life, and tried to explore that. As I kept writing, he became a fully original character, but I do owe that debt for his origins.
> 
> Happy 2017, and thank you for reading!

The rain turned to snow overnight. By the time the sun rose, most had melted into slush. Cecelia drew patterns in it with her foot. She was going to have to clean the deck all over again.

The Dead Eels were making last minute preparations, carrying crates, sharpening their awful hooks, and storing the whale oil. The _Undine's_ engine grumbled underneath her. Finally Lizzy stood on the top deck and addressed everyone.

"Look, gang, I know things have been rough past week. But as far as I'm concerned, it's business as usual for us. Maybe a little extra paranoia, nothing more. So let's just make like we always do. Hold Draper's, keep brokering jobs. And if I get back and find that everything has gone to hell, we'll all have to worry about more than a few fingers."

There were some uneasy mutterings at the last sentence.

Lizzy turned and waved to the Eels standing on the wharf. "I'll see you lot later!"

And with that, the _Undine_ spat a cloud of smoke into the air and set off. The water had a thin coat of ice on it that the ship broke through easily, leaving a trail in her wake.

Cecelia eventually curled up next to the engine, basking in its warmth, her breath visible in the cold air.

"Best spot in the house." A girl plopped down next to her, sporting more tattoos and piercings than Cecelia had ever seen in one place and hair even wilder than Lizzy's. "Tessa," she introduced herself, holding a gloved hand out to Cecelia.

Cecelia shook her hand, and came away wincing from Tessa's powerful grip. "What was that about the fingers?" she asked.

Tessa blinked a moment, then threw her head back and roared with laughter. "Oh that," she giggled. "Yeah, you piss off Lizzy, you owe her a finger. She has a whole string of dried fingers tied up back at the docks, I shit you not."

Cecelia's eyes widened. Engrossed in the lurid story, Tessa continued: "Yeah, there were a lotta fresh ones after that mutiny."

"Mutiny?"

"Ooh, best don't bring this up around just anybody," Tessa advised. "Lotta people are still sore. Basically Wakefield set Lizzy up for the Watch and took control of the _Undine_. Daud himself broke Lizzy outta Coldridge. This was about a week ago. Few idiots went along with it—oh hey, Annabelle." She tried to look nonchalant as Annabelle sat down beside them. Cecelia noticed that Annabelle was missing two fingers on one hand.

Annabelle glared. "Don't flap your gob if you don't know what you're talkin' about," she said. She pulled out a knife and started cleaning under her nails with it.

Tessa snickered. "No more risk of mutiny no more, anyways, now that you’re here, Rat Scrap. Wakey just got too tired of cleaning! It was the last straw!" She laughed like a loon as Annabelle pointed the knife in her direction.

"You say one more word, Tess—"

"I'll behave." Tessa continued giggling. "Just bringing Rat Scrap here up to speed. She should know what kind of family she's landed herself in."

"I didn't—" Cecelia began.

"Anyway, it'll be another thirty minutes before we reach the blockade, then another hour of cruising. With all the rain, the current's against us. Might as well get cozy and get to know each other, hmm?" Tessa elbowed Cecelia. "Link's here, we could get him to throw the cards. Always fun, the cards. Hey LINK!" she screamed. A tall man with dark skin glanced in their direction. "Cards?"

The man came over and joined them. "Lincoln's the best dealer in the Isles," Tessa said. "Here, show Rat Scrap what you can do."

Lincoln smiled, and even though Cecelia knew the three card scam, at that moment she'd swear he was the most honest man in the Empire. He pulled a deck out of his long coat. "Three cards. Two black, one red." He handed Cecelia the cards. "Look 'em over nice, now. Just ordinary cards, huh?" He laid them out. "Now watch me now," and his hands flashed as he sorted them. "Red's the winner, now, you pick the black, you lose." The cards glided, and he finally stopped. "Pick your card, Rat Scrap, was it?"

Cecelia carefully turned over a card, uncertain. It was the red one. Lincoln smiled at her. "Another go, hey?"

This time he slowed down, and Cecelia was better able to keep track of where the cards were moving. But when she thought she had the red card in hand, it turned out to be black. "How do you do that?" she asked.

Lincoln winked at her. "Just a gentle touch."

Tessa poked his shoulder. "A few hands of Nancy, anyone?"

"I'm in," Annabelle said, putting away her knife.

"You'll have to teach me, I'm afraid," Cecelia said.

Lincoln shuffled the deck, and they began.

 

They had to halt the game when they came to the blockade. A hulking navy ship sat in the middle of the Wrenhaven. "How do we get past?" Cecelia asked.

"Lizzy's got fancy papers," Lincoln said. "Gets us into most places."

A loudspeaker from the blockade ship called for them to halt. The engine's rumbles slowed and deepened, and someone tossed an anchor overboard. Lizzy stood on deck and waved a flag with a green cross on it. "That means that we're clean," Lincoln said. Another crew member had a blue flag emblazoned with the Kaldwin swan. "That means we're legal," Lincoln said.

"But not really," Tessa added.

The loudspeaker buzzed. "You are not allowed to pass."

Lizzy tossed her flag down on deck. "Bullshit!" she screamed up to the ship. "I wanna speak with your captain!"

A rope ladder was dropped over the side of the ship. Lizzy gestured up to the helmsman, who maneuvered the _Undine_ close. "Tessa, Big Pete," Lizzy called. "You're with me."

Cecelia watched as they climbed up to the blockade ship. Lincoln and Annabelle tensed. Annabelle slapped her hook on her palm.

"Maybe you should go below deck, Rat Scrap," Lincoln suggested. "This might get nasty."

"But…the papers?"

There was no need to guess at what was happening onboard the other ship. Lizzy's yelling carried across the water. "The fuck do you mean, these papers aren't valid? I've been using them for years!"

"The papers were issued by a government no longer in power," a voice said. "As Dunwall is currently leaderless, we cannot let anyone past the blockade until things are sorted out."

There was an ominous silence. Then a loud crack and a scream. Cecelia covered her mouth. The Dead Eels all scrambled for the rope ladder, providing backup for whatever was going down on the blockade ship. A few bodies fell overboard.

Cecelia's knees wobbled and she sat, pressing her head to the engine so that its purring would drown out the noise. What had she been thinking, taking up with these people?

Finally it was over. There was silence, punctuated with some laughing. A new flag was raised from the blockade ship: a white eel with a spear through it, on black. The Dead Eels descended the rope ladder back to the _Undine_. Annabelle waved her hook in the air. "I haven't had that good a time in months!" she screamed.

Lizzy had blood on her forehead. Cecelia wagered a guess that it wasn't hers. "I've always wanted to own a second ship," she said, laughing. "And now, we own the upstream blockade!"

Everyone cheered.

"Link, Jobber, Millie, take a few people, clean up, scavenge what you can," she said. "I'll be back in a few hours to pick you up."

Lincoln waved at Cecelia as he climbed back up to the larger ship. The engines roared, and the _Undine_ set off.

 

It started to snow again, and the wind picked up. Everyone huddled around the engines for heat, the unlucky helmsman having to brave the cold on their own.

Lizzy sat on the outskirts. "Wire," she addressed a lithe man, "when we get back, think you can rig the blockade vessel to loop a status report? Should keep Driscol from finding out that their upstream flank has been compromised."

The man nodded. "Not a problem."

Annabelle squinted. "You're not gonna station a skeleton crew to hold it?"

"No."

"So we're just offering it up for grabs, that it? We gonna leave the Wren unwatched?"

"I don't want to spread us too thin right now," Lizzy said.

"But—"

"One more word, Annabelle." Lizzy bared her teeth. Annabelle lapsed into a sulky silence.

Tessa, who was sitting next to Cecelia, poked her. "I think Lizzy's worried," she whispered.

"She told me as much last night," Cecelia replied.

"Yeah, I would be in her shoes too," Tessa said. "What with the mutiny, and the Hatters being gone, and the death of the Lord Regent—at least we knew what to _expect_ from Burrows, even if he was an asshole. Everything's changing. I don't like it."

"I don't either." She paused, picking up on something Tessa had said. "The Hatters are gone? Weren't they the most feared—?"

"That was before Bottle Street kicked their fancy-pants asses," Tessa said. "We were fighting with them for a while, too. Then some kind of poison got released in the old textile mill. Just like that, Draper's Ward was ours."

Cecelia slumped. "So much violence," she said.

Tessa shrugged. "It's a way to earn a living. More fun than other things out there. Besides, don't tell me you haven't seen your fair share of it."

"I have." Cecelia paused. "Just wish I could put it behind me."

Tessa cackled. "Oh Rat Scrap. Not while you're with us, you ain't."

 

The drop point was at a small rail station on the Driscol line. The snow had picked up, and through the flurry, the Eels unloaded their hold and exchanged it for the contents of one of the train cars.

Lizzy walked up to her, wrapped in a wool coat. "Last chance, Rat Scrap. Go, or stay."

Cecelia looked out at the snow. It was starting to accumulate on deck, and the land on either side of the Wrenhaven looked like some sort of badlands. She shivered. She'd never been out of Dunwall before. It would be stupid to venture out into the wider world, especially in this weather, with no heavy clothing, no money, and no destination.

She could leave the Dead Eels once they got back to Dunwall, and try and build something for herself in the city she called home.

Or she could stay with them. They were becoming familiar, in an odd sort of way. Living with a smuggling gang would not be a quiet life, but they could offer protection.

"I'm not going," she said. "Not out into this."

Lizzy nodded. "Good."

Good?

 

They broke into a crate of Serkonan spiced wine on the way back, and warmed it up. A brief stop at the blockade ship allowed them to collect the people they'd left behind, and send out the false signals.

Everybody wanted to be back in Dunwall as soon as possible. The snow was blinding. The flakes pricked at the skin.

Finally, they reached the Draper's Ward docks. "All quiet, boss," one of the Eels reported. "With this storm, I don't think anyone is going to try anything."

Lizzy nodded. "Good. You're relieved, find someone to take over your post. I don't want to get lax just because of the weather." While everyone else retreated into one of the large waterfront warehouses, Lizzy went down to the hold.

Cecelia was gathering up empty wine bottles. "Put 'em aside," Lizzy said. "We fill those with river krust acid. It makes a nice grenade."

Cecelia winced. "Do you ever wish you didn't have to fight all the time?"

"What would be the point of that, Rat Scrap? If you don't fight, then you don't get any due in this world. Especially for us ladies. You wanna be denied what the world owes you?"

Cecelia sat on a crate, and wrapped herself in her tattered blanket. "What does the world owe you?"

"Chance to make things the way I want 'em. I want my due. I want money. I want a bit of say in my own life. Don't you?"

Cecelia twisted her hands together. "I don't know. I just kind of…drift."

Lizzy popped the cork out of a new bottle of wine. "Old dreams pile up bad if you don't clear 'em out," she advised. "Leads to all sorts of regretting." She drank deeply, and passed the bottle to Cecelia. "So, Rat Scrap, you staying with us official-like? Or you gonna go hole up somewhere else in this shithole city?"

Cecelia examined the label on the bottle. "I think I'm staying. I don't know what else I'd do. Sleeping down here isn't bad."

"There's the warehouse," Lizzy said. "Most of the guys stay in there. We had a tinkerer fix it real nice few years back. Hot water, wood stoves."

"If you don't mind," Cecelia said, "I'd prefer to stay down here. I've never had much privacy in my life."

"Well, if you fancy sharing the hold with me, that's fine. I'll get you your own hammock, even. More comfy than those crates."

"You don't stay with everyone else?"

"I need the water under me, Rat Scrap. Been at sea for most of my life. I can't sleep on land."

Cecelia passed the bottle back without drinking. Her flushed skin told her that she'd had a bit too much already. "So Tessa told me about the mutiny." She wasn't sure why she was bringing this up.

Lizzy took another long drink. "Yeah. Only reason I'm here is 'cause Daud needed a favor. I took him upstream so that he could clear out this nest of witches."

She stared into the bottle. "If I'd realized that two days later he'd be dead, things might've gone a bit different."

"Daud is _dead?_ " Cecelia had heard the name, mostly as an urban legend. The idea of him being a human who could die was unnerving.

"Yeah. Your Corvo killed him, revenge for the Empress, I suppose. His Whalers scattered. I commissioned a few of them. Got his old quartermaster, who's been a huge help. Shame his second fled though. I would've kissed Lurk's boots if it meant having her as an Eel. She was one of the best."

She gazed across the hold. "They burned him in a little boat. Nothing compared to the Empress's funeral, but so many of Dunwall's underworld were watching from the shadows." She sighed heavily.

Drunk Lizzy was almost easier to get along with than sober Lizzy. She wondered if Lizzy had had something for Daud—she seemed unusually upset about the whole thing.

Maybe she ought to be seriously reconsidering whom she trusted. She'd trusted Corvo. She hadn't known the full extent of his activities. Not the killing. So much killing.

And here she was, putting her trust in another person feared for her violence.

Cecelia lay back on the crates and stared up at the ceiling. The snow muffled any noise coming from the shore.

It was like they were in their own world.

Lizzy set the bottle down and pulled a sheet of canvas out of a corner, which she hung up. "Wanna do some snow moving tomorrow, Rat Scrap?" she asked lazily as she climbed into the hammock.

"Doesn't seem like I have a choice. There's probably half a foot on the ground."

"Mmmhmm," Lizzy murmured. "This winter's gonna be nasty. I can feel it."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Slackjaw. He's definitely one of my favorite characters from the first game. Did I mention I love Slackjaw?
> 
> A note on OCs: Oops. I did not think to check the list of known Whalers when naming these guys! Some of them do have the same names, but unless I specifically say that they used to be a Whaler, they were not a Whaler.

Cecelia took to the snow with a coal shovel. The _Undine_ wasn't going anywhere, so she focused on clearing paths around the warehouse. The sun was out, and the new snow sparkled.

The brightness of the morning was soon disturbed. An Eel bundled in an absurd violet scarf and hat came running for Lizzy. "Bad news," he said.

Cecelia took a break and sat on Lizzy's desk in the warehouse. Lizzy gestured to the man impatiently, pacing up and down behind the desk. "Take _off_ that scarf," she grumbled. "Now, what is it?"

The Eel unwound the scarf and clutched it. "Bottle Street graffiti right outside Draper's. Fresh. They also left us a dead rat."

"Shit!" Lizzy snarled. "We can't afford this right now."

Another man cracked his knuckles. "Want us to go rough 'em up a bit?"

"Absolutely not. We _cannot_ get into a war with Slackjaw. For one thing, he'd win. For another thing, he's the one supplying me with _your_ elixir rations. You get my point?"

"We can't let this go unanswered!"

"We have to." Lizzy sat down, looking grim. "I know it rankles. I'm sorry. If I find out that anyone has tried to take a bit of revenge on their own, fingers will be had."

Annabelle slammed her fist down on the desk. Cecelia jumped. "This is bullshit," said Annabelle.

"I'm warning you, Annabelle—"

"BULLSHIT."

"Just cool it," Lincoln whispered.

Cecelia broke in, her voice nervous. "What if…what if you allied with Bottle Street?"

Lizzy turned to her. "Huh?"

The idea, nebulous in her mind, began to take shape. "I mean…you have nothing to lose, right? But if you made a truce with them, then you wouldn't have to worry about war. You could pool resources, and save your energy to deal with other problems."

Lizzy made to dismiss her, but Lincoln interrupted. "Wait a minute, this could be a good plan."

"Think about it," Cecelia said, her voice growing stronger. "Slackjaw has most of the city. You've got the waterways and the shipping routes out. It's not like you're fighting for territory. You combine forces, and you'll be much stronger than on your own."

Lizzy stared at her. Cecelia shrank back down.

"She's right," Annabelle said.

Annabelle was the last person Cecelia would expect to defend her. "Rat Scrap's right," Annabelle repeated. "We can't just do nothing."

"You've got nothing to lose, and everything to gain," Cecelia said.

"I've heard that the former watchmen are starting to form small gangs of their own," Lincoln added. "With that, and the nobility hiring their own small armies, we could be up against more than we can deal with, in time."

Lizzy held up a hand. "You guys keep talking, you might just convince me."

Cecelia held her breath.

"I'll send a message," Lizzy said eventually. "Just to arrange a ceasefire. And a meeting."

Cecelia exhaled.

Lincoln slapped her on the back. "Nice job, Rat Scrap."

"Don't start celebrating yet," Annabelle warned. "We have no idea if this is gonna work."

"It's a start," Lincoln said.

 

Cecelia found some nasty solvents in the hold. She filled a bucket, found some sturdy gloves, and went out to remove the graffiti.

The cold had caused the wet paint to freeze in some places, which made it easy to scrape off.  The dead rat had frozen too, its viscera staining the snow red. After a few minutes, she carefully covered it with more snow, not wanting to look at it.

Once the wall was more or less back to its original state, she retreated to the warehouse, her fingers numb. The place really was cozy. Bunks lined the walls. Up above, hammocks swung from the rafters. A large stove in the center roared, sending out waves of heat.

She sat down at a table. The man with the purple scarf and hat was cooking something that involved copious amounts of brandy. A flame went up from the pan, and smells of spice and cream tickled Cecelia's nose.

He finally pulled the pan off the stove and banged it on the table. Cecelia winced. The hot pan was going to leave a massive burn mark. But judging by the state of the table, no one really seemed to care if it looked nice. He turned and grabbed some chipped bowls, and slid one over to Cecelia. "Help yourself," he offered. "No more than we owe you."

"Thanks," she said. She had no idea what it was, but it was delicious, and warmed her all over.

He smiled cheerfully. "Name's Jenkins. That was smart, what you said earlier."

Cecelia shrugged. "It made sense to me," she said.

Jenkins pulled off the purple hat, revealing blonde hair that stuck up in all directions. "Makes sense to me too!" he said. "I never did quite understand why there's so much fighting down here. It's like chess. If the pawns teamed up, then they could own the board!"

"I don't think I want to be a pawn," Cecelia said.

He shrugged. "Gotta start somewhere. If you get a pawn to the other side of the board, she becomes a queen."

Cecelia giggled. "Enough with the metaphors." Jenkins felt safe in a way that the other Eels didn't. Maybe it was his cheerful manner. Or maybe it was that scarf.

"Hey now," he said, laughing with her. "I used to be a good chess player. Don't knock it."

"That's more of an aristocratic hobby than anything," Cecelia commented.

Jenkins ladled more into his bowl. "Well yeah. I did grow up in a wealthy household. Got kicked out at 15 and joined these lovely people. They're better company," he added dryly. "I'm happy down here. More than I ever was in the Estate District."

"I'm glad things worked out," Cecelia said.

He smiled. "Stupid, really, but Dunwall's underworld is home for so many who can't make it in other ways. What about you? Are you one of those?"

Cecelia looked down at the table. "I'm not sure I have a home." _I'm not sure I ever had a home_ , she mentally added.

"Well, you can have one with us if you want," Jenkins said. "Lizzy likes you. She's usually not so cordial to newbies. She's usually not so cordial to anyone, for that matter."

She ducked her head in embarrassment. "That would be nice," she said. "I mean, to actually belong. I'm only alive because the last people I worked for forgot to execute me."

Jenkins's eyes widened. "Wow. Sounds crazy."

Cecelia sighed. "Yeah. I'd rather not—"

"I understand. It's fine." He smiled again, a softer smile, that put her at ease. "You done?" he asked. "I'll take care of that." He gestured at her bowl and she slid it over.

"And don't worry about things," he said. "I know everything looks rough now, what with all the problems in the city, but things will get better."

She wished she had his faith.

 

True to her word, Lizzy found a hammock for Cecelia, and showed her how to tie it up.

It was _much_ comfier than the crates. It took a bit of practice to feel like she wasn't about to fall out, but once she found her balance, she was happy.

"We're meeting Slackjaw tomorrow," Lizzy said, "and I want you to come along."

"Ok, that's fine."

"It'll just be a starting thing, to work out a few things," Lizzy said, climbing into her own hammock. "Don't expect too much yet. These things take time."

"I understand."

"And whatever you do, don't let his boys intimidate you. They're big and crude, but they're not going to hurt you unless Slackjaw orders it. And he's too curious about what we have to say, at the moment."

Cecelia nodded, and stared up at the hold ceiling.

Lizzy pulled out the official papers and dangled them from her hand. "I can't believe that after all these years, these aren't worth anything anymore."

"Are those merchant marine papers?" Cecelia asked, trying to sit up in the hammock. "How did you ever get them?"

"My first lover," Lizzy said, "was a retired naval officer. Good sort. He got these for me. Allowed me to get into places that other sailors couldn't. Allowed me to start the Dead Eels, really. I miss him."

Cecelia blinked. A naval officer would be an aristocrat. It seemed so out of character for Lizzy. "What happened to him?"

"We parted all amiable like when he married his second wife. He died about a year ago, though. Rat plague." She folded the papers back up and stuck them in her coat.

"I'm sorry."

Lizzy waved it off. "It's life, Rat Scrap. And what about you, huh? When was the last time you were kissed?"

Cecelia lay back down, trying not to be affected by the memory. "Last week."

"Last week? Girllll—"

"It was forced," Cecelia said bitterly. "He was drunk and he pinned me to the wall. Luckily his servant intervened."

"Oh." There was a pause. "Glad you're out of that situation?"

"He was an asshole." She was surprised she could even say that aloud. "He's dead. I can call him an asshole. And no one will care. _Fuck_ him." Her voice trembled. "Nobles always think they're entitled to what they want." She rolled over in the hammock and curled up.

"I'm staying here, Lizzy," she said softly. She'd made up her mind. "I can't go and put myself back into something like that. I've been a servant my whole life. But you and your people treat me like an equal. I don't know how much use I can be to you, but I'll do my best."

"Hey. Don't worry about it." Lizzy's voice took on an oddly endearing tone. "We're not gonna run you off. And if this plan of yours works tomorrow, then we'll be setting on a new path entirely. I'll have you to thank for that."

"Ok," Cecelia whispered. "Thank you."

 

The snow was starting to melt a bit. They set off first thing in the morning, Lizzy wearing a white scrap of cloth tied around her arm. _We're not out to make trouble_ , it said.

Tessa, Lincoln, and a tiny man called Big Pete accompanied them. Cecelia was starting to pick up on the group dynamics a bit. Annabelle was too hot-tempered; she wouldn't be a good choice for what was supposed to be a diplomatic mission. Cecelia had hoped that Jenkins would come, but Lizzy had laughed her off. "You can't take him seriously," she'd said. "Not with that scarf, which I cannot detach him from."

Tessa was easy going and took life as a big joke, yet she also made a nice and intimidating presence. Lincoln was extremely mellow, but his bulk would make people think twice before starting trouble. Big Pete, Cecelia learned, was one of the original gang members, and almost as much a face of the gang as Lizzy was.

It shocked Cecelia how much the city had changed in just four days. None of the old security devices were working anymore. With no one to maintain the whale oil, most of them had been abandoned or scavenged for parts. Bodies were piling up the streets, not even wrapped in shrouds. Watch barriers were tipped over. The streets were deserted, and picked clean of anything useful.

The Dunwall she knew had gone into the distant past. What she saw now was a wasteland.

They finally arrived at the Distillery. A pair of Bottle Street boys were guarding the entrance, their arms folded. They squinted at the group. Lizzy slowly raised her hands, and nodded to the others to do the same. "Slackjaw's expecting us," she said.

"Dunno what he wants with you lot," one of the guards muttered. "Go in. And don't try anything funny."

Lizzy nodded to them, and they followed her into the Distillery yard.

Slackjaw's thugs were all standing at ease, watching them. A few whispered to each other, then broke out laughing. "Hey!" one of them screamed. "I saw Slackjaw with your mother last night!"

"And I saw him with your father the night before!" another chimed in.

"Aw, isn't that sweet!" Tessa yelled back. "It's like we're family already!"

Despite her nervousness, Cecelia laughed.

"So I heard you guys got the honor of picking off the Hatters!" a thug called. "Must've been _so_ hard, what with them licking their wounds and all."

Tessa shrugged. "Don't look at us. They done themselves in. All we had to do was stand back and watch!"

"Wait—you mean if we'd just—"

Another man elbowed the first one. "Shut up, man."

They walked up the steps to the Distillery building. "Slackjaw's waiting in his office."

Slackjaw was standing behind his desk, the wall behind him plastered with posters. "Well well," he said. "You know you're living in uncertain times when you find Lizzy Stride standing in front of you and not trying to kill you. So tell me, what brings you up landside?"

"I have a proposal for you."

"Yes?"

Lizzy gestured. "Look around you. We're really the only two gangs of consequence left in Dunwall. You own the streets, I own the river. And things are changing. We can't rely on business as usual anymore, because if we do so, there won't _be_ any more business to be usual."

Slackjaw nodded. "I'm listening."

"We need to form an alliance."

Slackjaw raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

"I'll wager your elixir operation is going to be in trouble soon, with Sokolov gone. I'm getting in fewer jobs than I ever have before, and it's harder to find buyers both inside and outside the city." Lizzy carefully laid out their weaknesses. "Pretty soon, we're both going to be warring with small gangs that think they can have a piece of the pie. And what of the plague? People are still dying. No politics is going to change that.

"We're on a sinking ship, Slackjaw. The question is, what are we going to do about it."

Slackjaw stroked his beard. "I don't see what's in this for me."

"Think about it. I don't want to fight you. And frankly, it's a waste of time for both of us. But if we team up, we can combine resources and turn our attention to more important things.

"You _need_ me, Slackjaw," she continued, leaning forward. "I took out the upstream blockade the other day. I have shipping routes out of the city. I can get you and your people what you need. And I need you, as well. My people always need elixir. I need your influence.

"Everything is changing. This is an opportunity. Let's make something of it. Together."

Slackjaw looked thoughtful. "Interesting proposal, Stride," he said.

They waited, holding their collective breath.

"I'll give it some thought. In the meantime, my people will stay out of Draper's. And I expect your people to stay out of my territory."

"That is more than fair," Lizzy said. "Please, don't hesitate to let me know when you've come to a decision."

 

Jenkins greeted them when they got back. "We're fucked," he said.

"Take _off_ that scarf," Lizzy grumbled. "What's happened this time?"

"Jack Ramsey is dead," he said, ignoring the order about the scarf. "His slaughterhouse has shut down."

"Fuck shit," Lizzy growled.

She didn't have to explain. Ramsey's slaughterhouse was the only facility in Dunwall still producing whale oil. Or it had been.

"We're screwed, aren't we," Tessa said.

Lizzy buried her face in her hands. "I'll see what I can do to start arranging imports."

Cecelia walked away. Lately it seemed like bad news was just coming faster than anyone could deal with it.

With nothing else to do, she started in on the warehouse, sweeping out corners and cleaning off the stoves and tables. The Eels lounged around, dicing or playing Nancy. Jenkins came in briefly, retrieved his hat, and went back out to scout around.

There was so _much_ in here that ran on whale oil. The stoves, the lighting, the hot water, and the building heat. How would they do without?

Then she smirked. A more interesting question was how would the nobility do without? It made for an amusing mental image.

She, at least, knew what it was like to do without things.

 

A messenger from Slackjaw came that night. He accompanied Lizzy back to the Distillery.

An hour later, she returned.

Everyone waited with bated breath.

She stood on a crate and threw her arms wide. "We made a deal!"

The Eels broke out into cheers.

"Hold on, I ain't finished!" They quieted themselves with difficulty. "Slack's got a contact upriver who can get us whale oil, and we'll be making the first run in three days! From now on, we own the whale oil market in Dunwall."

Instead of cheering, they screamed and stomped their feet.

"And it's all thanks to our Rat Scrap!"

Cecelia lost track of how many times she was pounded on the back.

"This calls for a celebration," Annabelle screamed. "WINE AND WHISKEY!"

They broke out bottle after bottle, and passed them around. Cecelia couldn't keep a massive grin off her face. Someone took out a guitar, and started playing. They shoved aside tables to make a dancing space.

A gunshot outside interrupted the merriment. Everything went silent.

A couple of minutes later, Jenkins walked in, his pistol still smoking. "There was some weirdo skulking around outside," he said. "I got his coat."

The coat he pulled on was a Watch's officer's navy and red regalia. It clashed terribly with his scarf.

"They won't be trying that again!" someone called, and the festivities resumed.

Several hours later, Cecelia was sitting at a table next to Tessa, watching people dance. When she knew the lyrics to a song, she would join in, but for the most part, the music consisted of naval shanties that she wasn't familiar with. Tessa took particular delight in singing the dirtiest bits as loudly as she could.

Across the room, Lincoln was dazzling people with card tricks. Annabelle was lurching around the dance floor, bumping into as many people as possible. Jenkins twirled around, his new coat spinning out behind him. A bulky man, whom Cecelia recognized as the one who'd found her on the docks, grabbed the end of Jenkins's scarf, and Jenkins spun, unwinding himself. The big man then threw the scarf around Jenkins, pulled him in, and kissed him passionately. There were several wolf whistles.

Tessa giggled. "I love those two." She glanced over at Cecelia, whose eyes were wide. "That's Montgomery," she explained. "They've been together forever. And if you disapprove, keep it to yourself."

"I don't—I'm just surprised."

"Look," Tessa said. "If you're here, then you accept that a woman can lead a gang, and that ladies can be just as good as men. If you accept that, then you'll generally end up accepting other things." She grinned. "Besides, Jenkins is a crack shot, and Monty will just remove your lungs. Their bad side is not a good place to be."

Cecelia nodded. "I don't have a problem with it."

"Good." Tessa stood and held out a hand to her. "Enough of this jawing. Let's dance!"

Cecelia accepted the hand, and Tessa dragged her out on the dance floor. They were greeted by a cheer. Cecelia didn't really know how to dance, but Tessa threw her into things and guided her around everyone else, studiously avoiding Annabelle. Cecelia slowly got into the swing of it, and Tessa spun her around, and passed her on to Jenkins, who took her hand with a wink. Soon it was nothing but music, and dancing (and tripping over Annabelle), and Cecelia found herself dancing with Lizzy, who spun her around so fast that the world became a blur.

"It's your night, Rat Scrap," Lizzy whispered in her ear. "I hope you're enjoying it."

Cecelia couldn't tell if the flush on her face was from the wine, the heat, or something else.


	4. Chapter 4

In the morning smoke was rising over Dunwall.

Jenkins stood on a roof, shielding his eyes from the sun. He climbed down when he saw Lizzy and Cecelia emerge from the hold.

"They're burning the corpses," he said, pulling his hat off and clutching it to his chest.

Lizzy sniffed the air. "Over Clavering way?"

He nodded. "A mob tried to storm the Abbey last night." He bowed his head. "They were screaming that the Overseers were hoarding whale oil and food. They managed to break through the doors, but they weren't a match for Overseers trained to fight. Most of the mob got killed." He looked at his feet. "The Overseers barricaded themselves up and rained fire down on Holger Square."

Lizzy frowned. "I'll contact Slackjaw, see if he can speed up that whale oil shipment. Is that it?"

Jenkins shuffled his feet. "Ah, no. Look, I hate bringing all this bad news—"

"Spit it out."

"Sokolov's primary manufacturer bought out the smaller elixir factories, and they boosted the price by nearly half!" He was nearly in tears. "I don't get it. Why try to milk dying people for all they have? Why now?"

Lizzy shrugged. "Presumably because they're dying and they won't need their coin pretty soon. Take a rest, Jenkins, you've earned it. We can live without a scout for a day."

Jenkins nodded miserably. "I'm sorry," he said.

"For what?" Lizzy waved him off. He went, his shoulders hunched.

Tessa greeted them with a vapor mask in hand.

"What the hell—?"

"I got a plan, boss." Tessa grinned.

"Enlighten me."

Tessa swung the mask around by its strap. "We're going to steal the elixir formula. I'm sure Slackjaw could figure out how to brew it. Hell, he could even dilute it down and keep selling it that way." She tossed the mask in the air and caught it. "We'll be rich!"

"What does this plan involve, exactly? And why are you dressing like a Whaler to carry it out?" Tessa was bundled in a heavy coat, boots, and gloves.

Tessa shrugged. "No reason, really. Just that river krust grenades in an enclosed space can be pretty caustic."

Lizzy nodded. "I get it. Take one other person, take as many grenades as you need. And don't kill anyone if you don't have to."

Tessa pulled the mask over her head. "Is this really the boss, telling me not to kill people?" Her voice sounded mechanical coming through the mask. "What have you done to the boss, Rat Scrap?"

"I'm fine," Lizzy snapped. "I have my reasons, and I don't always have to explain them to you."

Tessa shrugged, the heavy coat amplifying the motion. "Aye aye, boss."

"I want to come," Cecelia said.

Tessa threw up her hands. "What's this? You're truly one of us now, Rat Scrap!" She then slumped over in an exaggerated fashion. "Rat Scrap's first mission, and I'm not allowed to let her kill people? Man—"

"Shut up, Tessa." Lizzy turned to Cecelia. "I don't mind you going, Rat Scrap, but be careful. And whatever it is you're looking for, I hope you find it. Tess, get her a mask."

Cecelia's face flushed. She didn't really want to admit to herself that she was looking for any sign that Piero might still be alive. It was a slim hope.

She followed Tessa into the warehouse, and got handed a full set of Whaler clothing. The jacket was nice and warm. She pulled the mask over her head reluctantly. It felt like she was being suffocated. Her voice echoed oddly inside when she spoke, and the others' voices seemed like they were coming from far away. She yanked the mask off again. Tessa reached up and adjusted the jacket. "Daud's people used to wear this getup," she said, her voice tinny. "I think they only did it for the scary. And yeah. When we walk into that factory dressed like this, people gonna be scared."

"So what's the plan?" Cecelia tried the mask back on again. It was claustrophobic, but there was also a small thrill that nobody could see what she was thinking.

"We just need to get the people out of that factory long enough so we can search around," Tessa said, strapping bottles onto her belt. She passed Cecelia a few. "Hopefully they don't protect their documents too well. We go in, evacuate the place, grab the recipe, and get out. I know Lizzy said no killing people, but I'm not taking that option off the table. There's always some idiot who tries to make trouble."

"I don't want to kill anyone," Cecelia said.

Tessa shrugged. "You ever killed anyone before, Rat Scrap? It's like nothing else."

Cecelia took a deep breath. _I got myself into this,_ she reminded herself.

Tessa noted the silence. "If it comes to that, just leave it to me," she said. "You good? Mask secure? Grenades within reach? Good. Off we go!"

The ash in the sky turned the morning light crimson. A light snow was falling, and the red light dyed everything a somber tone.

The morning was cold, and a thin crust had formed on the old snow. They crunched through the snowdrifts. "Boss really got a stick up her ass today," Tessa noted. "You do anything to her?"

"I don't know why Lizzy's so upset," Cecelia said aloud. She had a pretty good idea, however. Events were rapidly spiraling out of their control. It was clear that Lizzy was not used to losing control. Whereas Cecelia had lived her whole life by taking things as they came and grabbing onto any opportunity she could.

The factory was located on the edges of Slaughterhouse Row. The building was worn, but machinery clanked inside. The sign above read, "James & Co Chemists. The Only Authorized Dealers of Sokolov's Elixir."

Tessa took the lead, and barged in through the front door. Everyone on the factory floor turned their heads.

Tessa held up a hand. "You've all got five seconds to leave." She put down a finger. "Four."

People scattered. Tessa continued counting down. "Two…one." Her head turned towards the stragglers. "Might wanna leg it," she said, and threw a bottle.

The glass broke and green acid spattered everywhere, eating through fabric and wood. Fine droplets hovered in the air, causing people to double over, coughing. Tessa moved through the chaos. A burly man tried to rush her. "Bad idea, sweetie," she said, and tossed a bottle directly at his feet. He was forced to back away, a hand over his face.

Cecelia followed her across the factory floor and up the stairs to the office. Their heavy clothing protected them well. There was no one in the office. Cecelia started to reach for her mask, but Tessa stopped her. "You don't wanna take that off until we're well out of here," she said, rifling through desk drawers.

Cecelia went through the file cabinets. Shipments, bills, nothing interesting there. Tessa slammed the desk drawers shut. "I got nothing," she said.

They looked around. There weren't any other obvious places for paper to be stored. Tessa started working her way along empty shelves, and finally paused in front of a painting. She tapped the frame. "Yesssss." The painting swung open on a hinge, revealing a safe.

Cecelia groaned. "How are we going to get in there?"

"Relax, Rat Scrap. It takes a key, not a combination." She put her face up close to the lock and snorted. The sound was alarming coming through the mask. "Not even that many tumblers. If I had my lockpicks with me—"

Cecelia sighed. "I'll look for a key." She pulled the top desk drawer open. She carefully shook the papers out, but there was nothing. Hang on…the drawer felt heavier than it should be. She bent down. The drawer was shallower than it appeared. She removed it from the desk and gave it a sharp tap. The false bottom fell out, scattering papers, keys, and other trinkets on the floor.

Tessa swooped down and started trying the keys in the lock, one by one. Cecelia sorted through the paper, and pulled out a likely looking sheet. "PIERO'S REMEDY: RECIPE," said the heading. A note was scrawled on the side: "Efficacy unknown. Ownership of formula unknown. Joplin dead; no will on file."

"Got it!" Tessa crowed as the safe creaked open. "And here it is. Man, if I wasn't wearing this stupid mask, I think I could kiss someone." She turned around and saw Cecelia staring down at the paper.

"You ok, Rat Scrap?"

Cecelia shook her head.

Tessa tilted her head. "Hey. If you wanna abort and head back home, that's fine. I'm just going to check around for anything else that's interesting, then get this over to Slackjaw."

Cecelia nodded mutely. She carefully folded the paper and tucked it into her coat.

"Let the boss know everything worked out!" Tessa called after her.

Cecelia made her way across the now-deserted factory floor. Acid vapor still hung in the air.

Her throat was choked. But she couldn't muster up tears.

The one disadvantage to the vapor masks was the lack of peripheral vision. A huge man loomed up in her vision. He carried a nasty looking knife.

"You one of Daud's pissants?" he asked.

She looked up at him. "What if I was?" she snapped.

"Only I was hired to guard this place, and the nobility will still pay a fine bounty for Whaler heads."

She laughed viciously. "Fine job you've done," she said, and removed a bottle from her belt.

He looked down. "You gonna fight me with broken glass?"

Cecelia's fist tightened around the neck of the bottle. "No," she said, and smashed it on the ground.

The cloud of acid rose and the man stumbled back, retching. Cecelia laughed and laughed, strolling past him and exiting the building without looking back.

She didn't know what had come over her. But the power rushed in her head, and it felt _good_.

 

Cecelia ripped the mask off and gulped down the cold and crisp air. Her heart was hammering. The snowflakes pricked tiny spots of cold on her face.

"What am I doing?" she said to herself as she trudged back to Draper's Ward. A sentry who she didn't know waved at her. She raised a hand in a half-hearted reply.

Lizzy was sitting at her desk in the warehouse. She looked up as Cecelia walked over. "Rat Scrap! Everything ok? Where's Tessa?"

"We got the formula," Cecelia said, looking down. "Tessa's running it over to the Distillery."

Lizzy exhaled. "Good job." She paused. "I'm sorry for being snappy this morning."

Cecelia looked up. "It's ok. I know there's a lot of things going on." She pulled the paper out of the jacket and handed it to Lizzy. "I found this. I didn't think—maybe Slackjaw will want this too."

Lizzy frowned as she scanned over the recipe. "Joplin's dead? Shit."

"Wait—you knew him? Piero?"

"Well—yeah. I told you that a tinkerer fixed a lotta things up for me, didn't I? That was him. Weirdo used to do a ton of jobs for us less-than-legal types, I guess 'cause he couldn't find any other work. He fixed up the _Undine_ when she was having engine trouble. He taught us how to extract the river krust acid. He did a lot of stuff for the Geezer—the Hatters' leader—and maintained the textile machines." He scratched the back of her neck. "And then a month ago he just up and vanished. One of his neighbors said he'd gotten a new job."

Cecelia nodded. "That was with Admiral Havelock. He made—weapons. And things. For Corvo. I—I liked him a lot," she mumbled, looking at the floor.

"Yeah. He was a good sort." Lizzy stood, and took her hand. Cecelia looked up, startled. "I'm sorry," Lizzy said. Cecelia squeezed her hand.

"Our shipment's due in tomorrow," Lizzy said. "Are you coming?"

Cecelia shivered, thinking of the last time. "I don't think so. It's warmer here."

Lizzy nodded. "That's fine." She hesitated, then let go of Cecelia's hand. "We're getting whale oil—enough for Slackjaw, us, and then a good amount to sell in the city. We're getting canned food in. I got some bullets for the guys. Things will be better soon." Cecelia got the feeling that Lizzy was trying to reassure herself just as much as Cecelia. "I promise."

 

That afternoon was quiet, most of the Eels sleeping off their hangovers. Cecelia huddled up by the stove and threw herself into cleaning off the soot and burn marks. Anything to hide her discontent.

Tessa arrived a few hours later. "Where were you?" Cecelia asked.

Tessa stripped off the heavy gloves. "I was showing Slackjaw and his boys how to take apart a river krust. Did you know that we've been drinking river krust bile this whole time?" She shuddered. "Disgusting. But it's the primary ingredient. They're mixing up a few test batches at the Distillery."

She plopped down at a table. "We're gonna be rich, Rat Scrap. We're gonna own this fucking city." Tessa clenched a fist. "People are gonna be coming to _us_ instead of the fat cats when they want something." She grinned. "Can you imagine it?"

Cecelia could. The Loyalists had tried to accomplish that very goal. To build Dunwall back up, and return things to the way they should be. But they'd gone about it all wrong. They'd focused on the high places—the Abbey, the nobility, and the throne. They'd wanted to make things better for _themselves_ primarily.

And they'd killed anyone who stood in their way.

No. Cecelia knew that she—and the Eels—could do _better_. They could reach people. No one would have to worry about money, or the whims of the aristocracy. People wouldn't be hurting for what they couldn't have. The idea burned up her mind.

"We can do this," she whispered. She looked up at Tessa. "I _want_ to do this."

Tessa high fived her. "A new era for Dunwall!"

 

Cecelia tossed and turned in her hammock that night. Lizzy finally threw an empty bottle in her direction. It smashed on the hold floor. "Will you _cut it out_ ," Lizzy grumbled.

"I'll have to clean that up in the morning," Cecelia said reproachfully.

There was a sound of rustling canvas as Lizzy shifted in her hammock. "Don't worry about it, I'll deal with it. Just go to sleep."

"Are you ok?" Cecelia asked.

A pause. "No." Another pause. "I don't like this whole _deal with Slackjaw_ thing. I don't like that this city's going to pieces and I don't like that we have to tread water so hard to stay afloat. You was saying that we had nothing to lose? Well, lemme tell you, we've got _everything_  to lose right now. And I have to fight so hard just to keep from losing it. Damned if you do, damned if you don't."

Cecelia turned on her side and looked over at Lizzy. "It was going to come to this anyway. At least you have something to fight for."

"I fucked up, you know. I shoulda just cut and run with the gang. Gotten out of this shithole. Set up somewhere where life isn't damned crazy."

"Dunwall's worth fighting for," Cecelia whispered. "There are good people here. And I think we really have a chance at changing things for the better."

There was silence. "Like people were crying in the early days of the plague?" Cecelia said, "'Send us food, not bullets'? We could do that."

Lizzy sighed. "You want me to be something I can't be," she said eventually. "I'm a pirate. I'm a smuggler. I don't help people."

"You helped me."

More silence.

"Everything's just—unmoored. Lately. I guess," Lizzy said. "Ever since the mutiny—everyone's trying to pretend things are normal—whether for my sake or theirs, I can't tell. And I never imagined that somehow things could go that wrong.

"Don't tell anyone this," she added. "I still wake up in the middle of the night dreaming of prison. Everything seems so unstable. Like things could break again. Hell, I _trusted_ Wakefield. Didn't like him, but I respected him. Was grooming him to captain his own ship under me."

She paused for a moment. "I feel like if I push things too hard, they'll break."

"Things have already broken for me," Cecelia said. "I want to put them back together and make it better than it was before."

"And maybe you can, Rat Scrap." Lizzy's voice developed an odd tone that it took Cecelia a moment to recognize as fondness. Or tenderness. She wasn't sure. "Maybe you can."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is my birthday happy birthday me~

The _Undine_ left in the morning, Lizzy taking most of her people in anticipation of the large cargo. Cecelia nearly had the warehouse to herself. The few sentries who'd remained behind were patrolling. It would be a perfect opportunity to clean, with everyone out of the way, but Cecelia decided to take some time for herself. She wasn't sure when she'd last had the chance.

She put on a pot to boil and threw in some canned whale meat and sliced potatoes. "Add rosemary," Jenkins suggested. He was sitting at a table next to Monty, cleaning his pistol. "Rosemary, bay leaves, garlic. And throw wine in too. The more the merrier."

Cecelia nodded as she pulled out a pot of spices. "I never was a very good cook," she said. "Wallace always..." She stopped as something kicked her in the gut.

"Who's Wallace?"

"He's dead," she said, turning away and pouring more wine into the pot than perhaps was necessary.

"I'm sorry," Jenkins said. "Didn't mean to poke. Don't forget to add onions."

She didn't feel like chopping onions, and crying because of it. "I don't like them much," she hedged, then covered the pot and took a seat at the table.

Jenkins shrugged. "Your loss." His pistol was neatly disassembled, and he hunched over it, handling every part with care. Monty sat with his back to the table, staring at the ceiling. "I hope there's a crate of brandy in the shipment," Jenkins added. "We're out and it breaks my heart."

"It breaks my heart that you use it for cooking instead of drinking," Monty said.

Jenkins elbowed him. "It makes a nice flavor."

"You and your posh sense of food."

"Hey, it's what I grew up with. Don't knock it."

Monty laughed. "I see that even ten years of rough living can't beat the aristocrat out of you."

"Ten years?" Cecelia said.

Monty turned to her. "We been here a long time. Only, what, twenty of us when I joined?"

"And now we've got forty-some mouths to feed," Jenkins added. "The bastards drink all my brandy."

"That was me."

"You owe me. Ten coin per bottle."

"I don't have ten coin."

"Then don't drink it." Jenkins picked up the barrel of the pistol and poked Monty with it. "But yeah," he added. "I dunno how Lizzy does it, but she somehow manages to keep forty of us in line."

"A healthy dose of violence and fear," Monty said. "Come to think of it, though, boss has been going rather easy on us lately."

"It was the mutiny," Jenkins said, starting to reassemble the gun. "It changed her. She seems…depressed. Or something."

"Yeah, that could be it," Monty said. "The thing about the boss is that she _enjoys_ what she does. She really loves it. And it shows. We have a lot of fun. Wakefield wasn't that fun. He had a right stick up his ass. Tight-fisted. Paranoid. Hell, half the people who mutinied in the first place were wishing that Lizzy was back after a few days of that."

Cecelia looked down at the table. "She seems worried to me. I mean, I haven't been here that long—"

"It's been a week since I picked you out of the river," Monty said.

"Already?"

"I think so. Today's the 9th, right?"

She shrugged. On one hand, the events of the past few weeks were fresh and raw in her mind. On the other, she felt like she'd been with the Eels forever.

The pot was starting to boil over. Cecelia jumped up from the table and turned the heat down on the stove. "We'll eat well tonight," Jenkins said. "And we won't save any for the guys who went sailing."

Cecelia giggled. "I wouldn't want to be out there in this cold."

Jenkins nodded and pulled his hat down over his ears. "Yeah. I swear, this has been the nastiest winter I've seen in years."

"Just what we need." Monty's tone sobered up. "What with plague and riots and shortages of everything important."

Jenkins frowned and carefully lined four bullets up on the table. "It'll get better," he said. He looked up. "We and Bottle Street can provide what others aren't. We can help people get what they need. And we'll last out the winter."

"This city's dying," Monty said. "We should've got out while we could."

Cecelia got the feeling that they'd had this argument many times. "I do have a question," she said. "I mean, Lizzy told me about the bootleg elixir, but how did you guys keep the plague out? I mean, everyone here is healthy, and…" She trailed off.

Monty snorted. "We didn't."

"Huh?"

Jenkins loaded his gun, his motions sharp. "We had two separate instances. Last summer, just before the Fugue Feast, and this past autumn."

"Lizzy slit their throats and dumped them overboard."

Jenkins sighed and set the pistol down. "It was like a funeral." He paused. "We'd kind of all…gather, and say things. Goodbyes, and stuff. And then Lizzy would cut their throats. It was the best death they could've had. Dying sane, and surrounded by family, and knowing that you are loved."

"Wow," Cecelia breathed.

No one spoke for a few minutes.

A sentry entered the warehouse. "Hey Jenkins, might wanna get out here. These guys dressed in black are kind of lurking around. Dunno what they want."

Jenkins stood, and swept the bullets into his hand. "I'll be right there," he said. He bent down and kissed Monty.

"Shoot their ears off for me," Monty said.

Jenkins laughed and turned to go. Cecelia's stomach fluttered a bit. Could two women be in love the same way Jenkins and Monty were, she wondered? The concept was still new to her, but it felt right in some way.

"If I catch you with your hands in the brandy crate, we are going to have problems!" Jenkins called from the warehouse door. Monty raised his hands in mock surrender.

A few minutes later, gunshots shattered the silence.

They waited.

Jenkins came back in. "That was weird."

"Who were they?" Monty asked.

"Dunno. They were dressed in black robes and veils—kinda old-fashioned mourning, almost."

"Harbingers of death?"

Jenkins shook his head and sat down. "No. Just people. Not witches or anything. They scattered quick enough with a few warning shots." He frowned. "That's the other weird thing. They were carrying plague bells."

"They weren't weepers?" Plague bells were a sort of historical curiosity—in old times when there was an epidemic, dead collectors and the ill would carry bells to warn people away.

"I don't think so."

"You should let the boss know," Monty said.

"'Course."

"Did you at least get their ears?"

"You are never going to let that go, are you?"

The incident was quickly forgotten. A few hours later, Cecelia pulled the pot off the stove and they dug in.

A blast from a ship's whistle interrupted their dinner. Cecelia abandoned her stew and scrambled outside. The _Undine_ made a fine sight, her lights shining in the darkness, and filled to the brim with shipping containers. Dead Eels were perched everywhere. As soon as the ship docked, everyone poured onto the wharf and into the warehouse, looking for warmth.

The engine idled. Lizzy came over to the edge of the deck. "I'm taking this shit over to Slackjaw! His boys are going to be doing the unloading. Rat Scrap, wanna come along?"

Cecelia grinned. "Sure." She wouldn't be getting to sleep until the hold was unloaded anyways. Might as well.

She made her way up to the bridge, and stood next to Lizzy, pulling her jacket tightly around her. Dunwall was dark. The usual lights of the city were out. The _Undine_ cast the only light visible for miles.

The ship slowly chugged down the river. "I was thinking about what you said," Cecelia said, "about how you're worried things might break."

"Hmm?"

"You can't—you need to make yourself needed, I think. You need to make it so that things would be worse without you. That way, no one will want to break things. Rather, they'll fight anyone who tries."

Lizzy considered a moment. "And who are you referring to, who needs me?"

"I mean—the Eels, Slackjaw? The people you're selling to. You said you don't help people, but you do. And—we're kind of the only ones supplying the city right now, anyways. Or we will be, very soon. If people need you, then they won't want anything to happen."

There was a pause.

"Interesting thought, Rat Scrap," Lizzy said eventually. "I think I know what you mean."

Cecelia nodded, and stared off to one side.

Lizzy began to hum, and then started singing in a low voice. "I'm heading out to sea, to where the winds blow free, I'm leaving on a whaling ship, yes that's the life for me—"

"What's that?"

"Ah, just an old whaling tune," Lizzy said. "Not that I ever was a whaler. I've done a lot of things, but not that. Too much risk, too little pay."

"What else have you done?"

Lizzy tapped the controls. "Been doing the smuggling for a while. Piracy came later—mostly for fun, though. Crewed with a Naval cartographer, mapping the Pandyssian coast. Before that—my first job—I was a powder boy on a warship. Ran gun powder to the cannons in battle. That was where I picked up my first crew. Big Pete's the only one left of that lot, but they all stuck with me til the end.

"Came to Dunwall after the mapping expedition finished. My boys and I were renting a flat above a candy shop. I borrowed some money, bought this old girl," she patted the throttle, "and we started smuggling sugar for the confectionary. So, yeah, I get what you mean about making yourself needed. The shop owners loved me. The sugar tariff at the time was making it expensive to get. My boys and I were drowning in free sweets." She licked her lips. "I haven't had candy in years…not since this whole plague business began. You?"

"We had apricot tarts when Burrows died," Cecelia said. "It was so nice. I used to really like lemon bonbons. My mother would get them for us when she had a bit of extra coin."

Lizzy grinned. "I always liked peppermints."

"You should ask Slackjaw if he has any contacts who can provide sweets."

Lizzy threw back her head and laughed. "Now wouldn't that be something. Let's just focus on the necessities for now."

"Is wine necessary?"

"When it comes to my crew, yes."

Cecelia giggled, and they stood in a comfortable silence for a while as the engines grumbled under their feet.

There was a small canal that led back around the Distillery. The _Undine_ barely fit. Lizzy maneuvered the ship with a deft hand, and somehow, they didn't bump the canal walls once. The cracking sound of ice echoed off the narrow brick walls surrounding the area.

They disembarked. A few of the Bottle Street men were waiting. Lizzy waved her hand at the ship. "All yours, boys. But make it snappy, I don't want to wait all night."

They met Slackjaw in his office. Whiskey glasses lined the front of the desk, each filled with a bright red liquid that they recognized as elixir. Slackjaw indicated the lineup. "Our test batches," he said. "I think we've just about got it right."

Lizzy picked up one of the glasses and drained it one go. "Ugh. That's the stuff."

Slackjaw nodded. "Tastes like grim death," he said. "And oddly cheap to manufacture as well. I've run the numbers, and the markup was incredible. It's almost like no one cared if the common man died."

Lizzy set down the glass. "No point in conspiracy theories now. You've got the recipe. What you do with it is up to you. But down to business. Shipment's in. Appreciate you bumping forward the date, we couldn't wait much longer."

"You'll have another in two days," Slackjaw said.

Lizzy squinted. "We've got enough stuff in here for weeks. Even if we sell over half—"

"It's not the sellin'," Slackjaw replied. "No. I've got something different in mind."

"What are you planning?"

Slackjaw ignored the question. "Victor Carmine is dead. He sat on the throne for five minutes before he was shot in the heart by Esma Boyle."

"Why do I care?"

"A riot broke out," Slackjaw said, holding up a hand. "A number of nobles and their mercenaries were killed. And the throne still sits vacant. Parliament is in disarray. Dunwall is not functioning. And people sit, and they starve. And if they try to do something about it, like they did with the Abbey, they are killed for it."

Cecelia turned her head away, not wanting to hear anymore.

"What's this have to do with us?"

"I am sitting on more coin than I know what to do with," Slackjaw said, scratching his beard. "And I'm  not sure I want to sell things. I'm not sure what we can gain from that."

"More coin?" Lizzy asked irritably. "More shipments? More shit we need? I dunno, Slackjaw, it doesn't seem to take much imagination to figure out what to do with _money_."

Slackjaw ignored this. "Money won't help us when the ship goes down. It's like you said, Stride. We've got one opportunity to try and rise above this. The scum that rises to the surface, if you will. We've got make sure there will be something left. After all, kill a man and rob him once. But don't kill him, and he'll live so you can rob him again. No. I've got a different idea in mind: _Charitable works._ "

"What the ever-loving fuck—"

Cecelia's eyes widened. Slackjaw was a step ahead from what she'd been thinking. Allying with him had been a smart decision.

"You want to give away food and elixir," she said.

Slackjaw turned to her. "Yes." He waved a hand at her. "Smart one, this. Yes. My boys and I are going to set up on the Clavering Boulevard waterfront tomorrow and have a market. A breadline. People can come and get elixir and food, and buy whale oil if they need it."

"Right under the Abbey's nose?" Cecelia asked.

"They won't bother us. They're too cloistered. And the waterfront means that both you and I can scram easily if the need arises."

Lizzy drummed her fingers on the desk. "This is a stupid idea."

"No it's not," Cecelia said. "This is exactly what I was talking about earlier. Being needed."

Slackjaw nodded. "It's more important to have common people on our side right now. The nobility has gone from useless to an outright liability."

"I am not participating in this foolishness."

Slackjaw leaned forward. "This ain't the Lizzy Stride I know. What happened to her? Lizzy Stride I knew, she knew how to plan for the long-term, and didn't run her gang based on mood swings."

Lizzy snarled and leaned her face into his. Cecelia put a hand on her arm. "Don't do this," she said. "Please."

Amazingly enough, Lizzy backed down. She cracked her knuckles. "I've gotten cautious in my old age," she muttered.

"Is it cautiousness? Or is it fear of another mutiny?"

Cecelia thought that Lizzy might have reached across the desk and strangled the man if she hadn't said something. "We'll be there to help."

Lizzy glared at her.

"Sensible," Slackjaw said. "I don't know where you found this one, Stride, but she's worth her weight in gold."

Cecelia had to drag Lizzy out of there.

"What the fuck is the man thinking?" she growled. "He is going to get us killed. And giving things away for free? That's not Slackjaw. I don't know what he's planning, but I don't like it."

"It makes perfect sense, Lizzy!" Cecelia snapped. "You don't want things to break? Fine. The way we're going to prevent that is by building new things."

Lizzy broke free of Cecelia's grasp and swung around to face her. "And _you._ You don't speak for me."

"You're not thinking clearly! You like ideas like this when I say them, yeah? What's so different about Slackjaw? He's our ally, remember. He's not going to compromise both himself and us."

"The difference is that I trust you! And I don't trust Slackjaw!"

Lizzy's shout echoed off the bricks.

There was a moment of silence. "Then can you trust me when I say that this is the best way to go?" Cecelia asked quietly.

Lizzy looked away. "I'll go along with it. Doesn't mean I have to like it."

Cecelia exhaled. "Ok. I'm sure the ship is unloaded by now. Let's go home."

 

They tied up the hammocks in silence.

Cecelia shivered. Each night grew colder. She opened her mouth to speak, and shut it again. She could see Lizzy out of the corner of her eye, watching her.

They both spoke at the same time. "I'm sorry."

Lizzy indicated for Cecelia to speak. "I'm sorry," Cecelia said again, running her tongue over dry lips. "I'm sorry I agreed to that when you didn't want to—"

"I'm sorry too," Lizzy muttered. "For yelling. Not for my opinions."

"I didn't expect you to apologize for your opinions," Cecelia said softly.

Lizzy turned away. "Good. 'Cause I'm not gonna." She dug into a crate that had been left in the hold, and pulled out a stack of wool blankets. "Figured we might need these," she said.

Cecelia took one, and wrapped it around her shoulders. "Thank you."

"I'll go tomorrow," Lizzy said. "Take a bunch of our people. It'll be nice for them, if nothing else. They've been worried."

 _They're worried about you_ , Cecelia wanted to say. But she just nodded. "It's just one day. We don't have to do it again if it doesn't work out."

"I'm worried we might not get a second chance," Lizzy said.

Cecelia nodded. "It's not just the mutiny, is it?" she asked. "That's bothering you?"

Lizzy slumped down onto the hold floor, curled in several of the wool blankets. "No. It's not just that. It's this whole shit-fucked situation. And I don't know what to do but to go along with your ideas, because they seem better than sitting and doing nothing. Like you said, we've got everything to gain."

She stared at the floor. "But I feel like there's so much more to lose."

Cecelia sat down next to her.

"And I don't want to lose anything. Not my people, not my ship, not our jobs—our whole reason for living. I feel like there should be more, but I don't know what, and I'm afraid that by trying to figure it out, I'll just lose everything."

Cecelia reached out, hesitated, and put an arm around Lizzy's shoulders. She could feel Lizzy flinch, and then relax into her touch.

It was like they were dancing on an avalanche. Cecelia' stomach twisted as she remembered why the feeling was so familiar. The Loyalists. Risking everything for gain.

And they could have done it too. Cecelia felt herself tense, and had to remind herself to relax. No good getting Lizzy more upset, in her current state. But they could've done it. Paranoia had been their downfall. Paranoia, and an eagerness to grab power. Cecelia didn't know where she was going with her ideas. But wherever they led her, she swore she wouldn't make the same mistakes. She squeezed Lizzy's shoulder.

The best idea seemed to be to take things one step at a time. Like Martin had planned the whole thing out. Collapse one thing at a time—or in her case, build one thing at a time. First the alliance with Slackjaw. Now to help the populace of Dunwall. What next?

"Everything to gain," Lizzy whispered. She sighed, and then seemed to steel herself. She turned to Cecelia. "Can I kiss you?"

"I—Huh?"

Lizzy turned away, and shook her head. "Everything to lose." Her tone seemed disappointed and relieved at the same time. And suddenly Cecelia understood one thing.

"And everything to gain." Her voice trembled. "Yes, you can."

Her stomach did flips as Lizzy turned back to her, staring her in the eyes. They slowly leaned in, and then—

Cecelia drew back. "Teeth," she mumbled. It was the stupidest thing, being afraid of Lizzy's pointed teeth. Lizzy looked shocked for a moment, and then laughed quietly.

"I'll be careful," she said, and Cecelia leaned back in. Their lips met, hesitantly, dry against the others'. Cecelia had no idea what she was doing. Her mind was blank. But Lizzy was warm, and as their lips brushed together, her stomach fluttered, in a nice way.

Lizzy was true to her word. Cecelia had no idea how long they sat, exploring the ways their mouths fit together, but not once did she have second thoughts. She wasn't sure when she had last felt this warm, or felt someone's skin brushing against hers like this, and _wanted_ it. 

Finally they broke apart. Cecelia wasn't sure where to look, but Lizzy caught her gaze and held it. And it wasn't uncomfortable. Cecelia found herself noticing things she hadn't noticed before—Lizzy's eyes, hazel in the dim light, the swirls of the sea monster tattoos that adorned her face—and just how familiar that face had become.

"Bright and early in the morning, Rat Scrap," she said, and her voice sounded better, like all her doubts had fled.

Cecelia nodded, but hesitated, not wanting to leave the warmth of Lizzy or the wool blankets. "Too cold to move," she said, and Lizzy laughed.

"Come here." Lizzy untangled them from the blankets, and the cold hit Cecelia like a knife. They stood, and Lizzy piled the blankets on her hammock. "Get in," she said. "Much warmer with two of us."

Cecelia carefully rolled into the hammock, and Lizzy followed, nestling into her side. They pulled the blankets over them. It was cozy. The hammock rocked gently.

"What's your name?"

Cecelia startled at the question. "Rat Scra—" she answered automatically, then caught herself. "No. Cecelia."

"That's a nice name." Lizzy's voice was muffled against the blankets.

Cecelia stared at the ceiling. "I think I make a better Rat Scrap than I do a Cecelia."

"Whatever you wish."

They fell asleep curled up against each other, cozy in the middle of winter.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> During the Great Depression, Al Capone opened a soup kitchen in Chicago. Ostensibly a move to improve his public image after the St Valentine's Day Massacre of 1929, the soup kitchen fed thousands of people who were out of work or homeless.
> 
> [Source](http://rarehistoricalphotos.com/al-capones-soup-kitchen-great-depression-chicago-1931/)

Lizzy woke her in the early morning. Cecelia didn't want to leave the warmth, but eventually folded up their blankets and pulled her hat down, trying to fit it over her ears.

Lizzy tossed an empty bottle overboard as they made their way up to the ship's deck. "Don't mention this to anybody," she said. Cecelia didn't have to ask what _this_ was. "My people are ok," Lizzy added, "but the rest of the world ain't. Jenkins' family disowned him for it."

Cecelia nodded. They entered the warehouse, Cecelia glad for its heat. Lizzy cupped her hands around her mouth. "Rise and shine!" she screamed. "Bright and early! Anyone wanna go do _charitable works?_ "

They rounded up volunteers, who bundled up and they set off for Clavering. Spirits were high. Tessa linked her arm with Cecelia's. "This will be _fun,_ " she said happily.

"Even though it doesn't involve violence?" Cecelia said, her tone light.

Tessa grinned. " _Crime_ is fun. And giving away this much stuff for free is _criminal_."

Cecelia laughed.

The Bottle Street gang had set up a large tent on the waterfront. Smells of cooking hit the roof of Cecelia's mouth—all warmth and savory things. She had to laugh at the sight of Slackjaw's thugs working over large pots of soup. One of them wore an apron. A few wary people had gathered around the tent to see what was going on. They were rewarded with mugs of soup and vials of elixir.

_Charitable works_. So out of character for the remaining gangs of Dunwall. Yet there was another kind of power here. One that did not rely on toughness or money, but respect. A smile spread across Cecelia's face. Here was something she'd only dreamed of, in person.

Lizzy leaned over the table where a man was chopping carrots. "Where's Slackjaw?"

"He's in the Distillery, doing inventory," the man said.

"Typical," Lizzy grumbled. "Always keeping himself away from the front line." She indicted the Eels. "Well, we're here. How can we help?"

The man nodded. "We've got the soup pretty well in hand. You lot wanna dish things out to people? And collect the mugs back? We brought some water for dish washing."

"You got any security?" Lizzy asked. "Might want a few people patrolling. You know. Just in case of problems."

The man stopped chopping carrots and squinted at her. "Surely you can spare enough people if you think it's necessary?"

"Right." They set to work. Lizzy perched herself on top of a crate and stared out over Clavering, keeping watch on the small crowd that was quickly gathering. Annabelle and Monty set themselves to ladling out soup. Tessa went around collecting mugs, harassing anyone who tried to smuggle them away.

Cecelia and Lincoln set themselves to crowd control, explaining to befuddled passersby what was going on, and maintaining an orderly line. The faces Cecelia saw had a sort of controlled excitement on them, coupled with a bit of fear. The people the faces belonged to were dressed in various states of shabbiness, the clothes hanging off of skeletal frames. Cecelia hadn't realized how bad things had gotten; there was always plenty of food for the Dead Eels.

The populace was not faring half as well.

As word got out, more and more people gathered. Gaunt-eyed children accompanied their parents, some of whom were close to tears for not having to worry about this next meal. "I haven't seen this much food in years," someone murmured.

The sun worked its way above them as the day wore on. The mugs went through multiple rounds of washing, and Bottle Street boys carried fresh crates of supplies to the tent. The first shift of cooks took a break, and several more people hopped on the line.

Clavering Boulevard hadn't seen this much activity in months. People were sitting everywhere nursing the soup—on curbs, by the waterfront, huddled around smaller fires built in the street. Everything remained nice and orderly.

At noon, the air was that of a festival. Someone had brought a horn and began playing music; people insisted that he get an extra mug of soup. Cecelia saw Lincoln slip the man a few coins. She smiled and pretended not to see, turning her eyes back to the tent and catching Lizzy's eye. Lizzy was clearly more relaxed than she'd been last night, peeling and chopping garlic with a long knife.

A shout caught her attention. She turned towards to source of the sound, only to see a man in a tattered Watch uniform shoving his way through the crowd. Cecelia wordlessly poked Lincoln and pointed. Lincoln squinted, and they casually made their way over to the man, trying not to draw his attention. The man was stumbling, obviously drunk. He carried a pistol, and didn't watch where he pointed it. The barrel of the gun bobbed in his unsteady hand. Cecelia had no idea if it was loaded or not, but she didn't want to find out.

Both the Bottle Street boys and the Eels closed in on him, keeping their distance, but wary. The man made his way up to the tent. "This' ill'gal," he said.

Annabelle glared. "What's it to you?"

Trust Annabelle to make things worse. The man raised his gun, his hand shaking. "I'mma have t' shut this down," he said.

In a flash, Lizzy left the garlic and vaulted over the front table, her knife held out in front of her. She quickly knocked the gun out of the man's hand, and put her knife to his throat, pressing him backward. A few people in the crowd cried out. Lizzy backed him into a lampost. "Say that again," she snarled.

The man just leered at her. "Bitch," he said. "Y' ain't got rights. I'm Watch, y' hear? Watch!"

Lizzy tilted her head, as though considering his words. "Watch eh?" she said. "You got a mighty big mouth for a man who can't hold a gun straight." She leaned into his face, closer, and closer, as though moving in to kiss him. There was a muffled scream, and when Lizzy came away, blood was pouring from the man's mouth. Lizzy turned away and spat something into the snow.

Cecelia clapped her hands over her mouth. It was the man's tongue.

He lashed out at her blindly, and Lizzy took the opportunity to duck behind him, her arm in a vise grip around his throat and her knife in his gut. They stayed like that for several minutes, and the man finally slumped over. Lizzy let go of the corpse, not bothering to remove the knife.

The street was silent. Lizzy wiped blood from her mouth. "That," she said, "is what happens when someone tries to mess with the people _under my protection._ " She surveyed everyone in the street, catching their eyes despite attempts to look away.

After a few seconds of silence, activity resumed, although quietly.

Lizzy scooped up a handful of snow and chewed on it a for a bit, washing the blood out of her mouth. A Bottle Street boy hefted the dead Watchman over his shoulder, leaving only the red-stained snow behind.

It took Cecelia several moments to realize that she was shaking. Lincoln patted her on the back. "You ok?"

Cecelia exhaled, shakily. "I will be in a bit," she said.

"Good," Lincoln said, and squeezed her shoulder.

The rest of the day passed without incident. At dusk, they packed the tent and the remaining supplies away. "I reckon a few thousand people came," Tessa said. She tossed a mug into a bin. "That's a lotta soup."

One of the Bottle Street boys nodded. "You lot have another shipment to pick up tomorrow. Slackjaw wants to start doing this every other day, at least. As long as we can keep shipments coming in at this rate, should be possible."

Tessa grinned and high-fived him. "I like this whole soup tent business!"

And as they headed home and the sun set, they all began referring to the event as the soup tent.

 

"All right," Lizzy said. "I'll confess that today did not go as badly as it could have."

Cecelia hid a smile. "Your people really enjoyed it."

Lizzy stretched. "Yeah, it's nice to stop being all doom-and-gloom for a change." She grinned, and cracked her knuckles. "And lemme tell you, it's been ages since I killed someone and actually _meant_ it."

Cecelia frowned. "You enjoyed that?"

Lizzy looked up. "The gun was loaded. If it had gone off, then it would've just proven my point: that these soup tents were a dumb idea."

"So you killed the guy instead."

"Hey, the day was a success, right? People came, ate, found out that we're not here to kill them. Did you see everyone's face afterwards? Now they know who the real enemy is. You're getting what you want, Rat Scrap. Why you gotta be unhappy about it?"

"I didn't want anyone to die."

"No," Lizzy shot back. "One guy died instead of many people. It's a trade off."

Cecelia sat down on a crate.

"Hey." Lizzy sat next to her. "I'm sorry if I freaked you out. It was for the best, though. I wasn't going to let him hurt anyone."

Cecelia flinched. "Just that killing…I mean…does it really fix anything? Corvo killed lots of people. Havelock killed everyone except me. It didn't matter. Emily still died, and Havelock still lost all the power he'd worked so hard for."

Lizzy tilted her head. "It sounds like you've never had someone willing to kill _for_ you."

"I—" Cecelia hesitated. Corvo? He'd bought her time to escape from the City Watch. But he'd killed only for Emily, she was sure of that. Even with all of Havelock's fancy plans. Havelock had killed only to save his own skin.

Lizzy. She killed for her own interests, but the interests of her people were implicit in that.

"Would you?" Cecelia whispered, turning to face Lizzy. "Would you kill for me?"

Lizzy's eyes locked onto hers. "Yes."

Cecelia breathed out. "I could kiss you," she whispered. "But—the taste of blood—"

Lizzy licked her lips. "Blood? I mean, I don't taste blood anymore—hang on." She got up and rummaged through the hold, coming up with a bottle of spiced wine. She took a deep drink. "Nope—no blood taste here. Just wine."

Cecelia smiled and leaned in, their lips meeting. Nothing but wine, the heady taste of the alcohol and the spices on Lizzy's breath. They were less hesitant than last night. After a few moments, they broke apart. "I don't know if I'd kill for anyone," Cecelia whispered. "But I'd sure as hell throw a few river krust grenades at people for you."

Lizzy grinned. "Good enough for me," she said, and pulled Cecelia back in.

As the evening chill set in, they curled up in Lizzy's hammock, drawing the blankets tightly around them. Lizzy kissed a line down Cecelia's jaw. _She could easily tear out my throat,_ Cecelia found herself thinking. But she trusted, and did not shrink away, instead pressing herself closer to Lizzy's body.

They snuggled in closely, Lizzy's head buried in Cecelia's side. Cecelia stroked her hair. "You coming with us tomorrow?" Lizzy asked.

Cecelia shook her head. "I'd rather stay here. Stay warm." She wiggled slightly, burrowing deeper into the blankets. "If it were up to me, I wouldn't move from this hammock."

Lizzy frowned, but her eyes remained cheerful. "See now, that might be a problem. Taking up valuable cargo space. Besides, I'd want to stay here with you. Can't run a gang from a hammock, can I."

Cecelia giggled. "I suppose not." She wrapped her arms around Lizzy.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is today Tuesday? I guess today is Tuesday.
> 
> So this is the end-ish of the first part of this story! As such, I'm going to be taking a break to work on and cohere the second part. I am still in need of a beta reader, so if you're interested, hit me up. Other than that, I'm estimating probably a month? until the second part begins posting.
> 
> Thank you everyone for reading, kudos'ing, and commenting!

They rose with the winter sun. The sky was dark on the horizon, threatening more snow. The Eels must have had quite the store of clothing, Cecelia thought. Everyone was bundled to the hilt.

"You're in charge, Rat Scrap," Lizzy told her as they made preparations to get underway. The sentries looked surprised, but they all nodded to Cecelia as the _Undine's_ horn blew.

Cecelia holed up in the warehouse with Monty and Jenkins. They barely had time to get comfortable before one of the sentries burst in. "Jenkins. They're back. Those guys in mourning."

Jenkins nodded and grabbed his gun. Monty and Cecelia followed as he led them up to the stone wall bordering the Ward.

The sentry didn't have to point them out. A group of people in black stood on a street corner, talking quietly. One of them had a basket. Jenkins pulled a spyglass out of his coat, and took a look. "I can't see their faces at all," he said, squinting into the glass. "They've got veils on."

"What's in the basket?" Monty asked.

"Looks like dirty rags." Jenkins adjusted the focus. "No—sheets of cloth, not rags." His fingers tapped the barrel of the spyglass. "One's also got a bottle of something—something chemical, I think. Not booze." He put the glass away. "Have they been doing anything suspicious?"

The sentry shook his head. "No. Just passing around a cigar and chatting. They were arguing a bit earlier, I think. I heard shouting."

Jenkins frowned. "I don't like this."

Cecelia looked at him. "Could we…get one?" she asked. "I wanna ask them some questions."

Jenkins tilted his head. The sentry shrugged. "You heard the lady."

Much to her surprise, Jenkins nodded. "Monty," he said. "Can you—?"

"Yep." Monty cracked his knuckles. "I'll go around the back way, so they don't hear the Ward gates opening. Might be a few minutes. Better hope they don't leave before I can get to 'em." And with that, he was gone.

Cecelia's breath hitched. It felt weird, having people jump so quickly to get her what she wanted. Was this what Lizzy felt like all the time?

She kept an eye on the group. Every so often, a head would turn towards Draper's. Jenkins and the sentry stood still, eyeing them down. The Eels and the men in black watched each other, warily.

The sentry shook his head. "This is no good. Even if they stay here, no way Monty will get to them without being spotted. I doubt even he can outrun them if they have a good start."

Jenkins nodded. He turned to the sentry. "Hey, what the fuck, man!" he yelled. Cecelia jumped.

The sentry blinked. In the street below, the men abandoned their conversation and all looked up at the wall.

"What?" the sentry said. He looked hurt and confused. Jenkins gave a wink, and raised his voice.

"I saw you with my girl last night!" The sentry's eyes widened, and Cecelia realized what Jenkins was up to. "I trusted you!"

The sentry folded his arms. "She's the one who left you!" he said. "Maybe if you could get it up, you wouldn't have to worry—"

"That's no excuse for going behind a man's back—!"

"Maybe you should talk to her about that!"

Cecelia had to fight down a giggle. The men in black were all staring up at them, watching the argument.

"You hagfish! She was gonna leave you anyway!"

"Jackass!"

Out of the corner of her eye, Cecelia saw Monty slipping through the shadows along the side of the street.

"Plague rat!"

"At least I don't eat those!"

"—"

The men in black suddenly scattered. Jenkins and the sentry turned their heads, watching the mayhem. In short order, Monty chased down the one holding the basket and tackled him. Cecelia winced. Monty pulled the man's hands behind his back and tied them, then hoisted the man to his feet.

They scrambled down to meet Monty and his captive at the gate. There was muffled swearing coming from underneath the veil.

"He's all yours, Rat Scrap," Monty said. "Where do you want him?"

"Just…against the wall there..."

Monty dumped the man unceremoniously against the bricks. The veil he wore was slightly askew. "What do you want?" he cried. "I don't have any money!"

"I just want to ask some questions," Cecelia said. She bent down and pulled off the veil. The man blinked in the light and stared up at her. He hadn't shaved in several days. "Who are you guys?"

"We're undertakers."

Cecelia frowned.

"Well, the Watch hasn't got its Dead Counters anymore, has it?" the man said. He wiggled, trying to find a comfortable position. Hard to do, with his hands tied behind his back. "We take dead bodies for people, shroud 'em, and lay 'em to rest. Someone's gotta do it in this mess of a city. And people pay well to see their loved ones treated nice."

"What do you do with the bodies?"

The man squirmed and avoided her eyes. "Well, it's not like we can get enough whale oil to burn 'em. We kind of… move them out of sight, is all."

"So you go around the corner and dump them in the alley?" Monty said.

The man's head bobbed. "Pretty much, yeah."

"So people are paying you to wrap up bodies and move them fifty meters," Monty said. "That's an impressive scam. Do you reuse the shrouds too?"

"Uh…yeah. Don't give me that look!" he said as they glared at him. "Fabric's expensive. We just wash 'em out in the river when we're done and they're good as new. Basically."

"How much are you charging?" Cecelia asked. Her eyes widened when she heard the amount. "That's insane! You're worse than the plague rats."

"Hey! We're doing the city a service here, lady. Bodies would be festering out in the street and in peoples' homes if weren't for us."

"Instead, they're just festering in back alleys," Jenkins commented.

Cecelia shook her head. "Why have you lot been hanging around Draper's Ward? You _do_ know who we are, right?"

The man averted his eyes. "Well, it's not like gang life is easy. Thought you guys might have some bodies we could take care of."

"We treat our own better than you rats," Monty growled.

"Do you actually get much business?"

The man nodded. "Can't wrap the bodies fast enough."

Cecelia tallied up the numbers in her head. If they were doing ten bodies a day, and at the rates they charged…her eyes widened. That was a lot of money. From citizens who had barely any.

There was more to running a city than food.

Ideas sparked in her brain.

Monty's expression was growing angrier, and he looked like he was coming close to throwing the undertaker in the canal. Cecelia held up a hand, interrupting his tirade of insults.

"What if somebody paid you to do this?"

The undertaker looked at her. "Huh? Our customers pay us."

Cecelia shook her head. "Not like that. Like a wage. And then you wouldn't have to charge people out the nose."

The undertaker snorted. "Who's gonna pay?"

"Just—would you work for a wage? And new shrouds? And if you were required to take care of bodies properly?"

Jenkins and Monty side-eyed her. The undertaker shrugged. "If wishes were horses," he said. "I guess so. Maybe."

Cecelia pulled Monty and Jenkins aside; the other sentry returned to the wall to keep watch. "You've got an idea, haven't you?" Jenkins said.

"We have a textile mill sitting right here," Cecelia said. "We have coin, we have whale oil. We get these guys on our side, we can protect people from their scam."

Monty scratched the back of his head. "That's a lot of stuff to oversee, Rat Scrap," he said. "Next thing we know, you'll be asking us to start our own City Watch."

"No one else is going to do it. The city needs order to survive. Services. We're doing the soup tents already, why not do a little more?"

Jenkins nodded. "I agree."

"Run it by the boss first," Monty said. "And that's assuming we can even get the mill up and running. Who knows what kind of shape it's in. And assuming we can keep these rats in line."

"We can do it." Cecelia's voice was confident. "And I wouldn't worry about them stepping out of line."

She turned back to the undertaker. "We might have a deal for you."

 

They untied him and let him go, but not before confiscating the veil and the basket of secondhand shrouds.

Jenkins held the veil up front of his face. "Look at me," he joked. "I'm the Masked Felon, come to dispense justice."

Monty snatched the veil from him and tossed it in the canal. "Don't touch that thing," he growled. "You'll get fleas."

Jenkins laughed. "You think the Masked Felon had fleas?"

Cecelia snorted. "He didn't. I can personally attest to that."

They stared at her. She shrugged. "I worked for the conspiracy. I washed the linens and towels. No one had fleas."

"That's a relief," Monty commented. "Would hate to think that the Lord Regent got overthrown by a random vagrant with _fleas_."

Cecelia smiled. The Masked Felon hadn't been any random vagrant, but she wasn't going to tell.

 

The _Undine_ came back that evening and moored at the Ward docks. Lizzy noticed Cecelia's questioning look. "No point in bringing it down to the Distillery if we're just gonna have to move it again for the soup tent."

Cecelia nodded, her mouth dry. "Cargo hold?" she asked. "I need to talk to you."

"Sure." Lizzy followed her down into the hold, crowded with crates and sacks and tanks of glowing whale oil. "What's up?"

"How do you feel about expanding our services to body disposal?"

"Huh?"

Cecelia told her about the undertakers, and her offer.

Lizzy grinned suddenly, startling her. "Have I ever told you how perfect you are, Rat Scrap? That's fucking genius. I'm starting to think I've been doing things wrong for _years_. Gratitude is a much more valuable currency than coin."

Cecelia smiled too. She hadn't been sure what Lizzy would think. "Can we get the mill running?"

Lizzy scratched the back of her neck. "Honestly? I have no idea."

Cecelia frowned. The mill was key. Shrouds meant dignity.

"The canal started flowing again, so we'd have power," Lizzy continued, ticking off points on her fingers. "The machines were operational as of a week ago. All of the Hatters' workers probably died in the poison, though, so I don't know if we can find anyone trained to run it. Oh yeah, the poison. Some of sort of poisonous leak occurred in there. It's sealed up, so there may be lingering toxins. And the bodies. It's gonna need a hell of a cleaning before we can do anything." She looked up. "You're good at keeping shit clean, Rat Scrap, but how well do you handle dead bodies?"

Cecelia grimaced.

"I can do it."

"You sure? I'm not gonna drag you into anything you can't handle."

"I can do it. If it means we can move forward with this."

"That's the spirit." Lizzy yawned. "You remember the knot I showed you to tie up the hammock?"

"Yes?"

"Well, get to it. I've been lifting crates all day, and from the sound of it, you had Monty to do all your dirty work."

Cecelia laughed, and carefully tied up the hammock, Lizzy watching as her fingers worked the rope.

The _Undine_ set off in the morning for the soup tent. There were more volunteers this time than last, word having got around. The warehouse was almost empty.

"All right." Lizzy grimaced. "Let's do this." She tossed Cecelia a full set of Whaler's gear. "Make sure that mask is secure," she said. "No idea how long that poison decided to stick around."

Cecelia pulled the mask down over her face, and pressed her hand to the ventilator as she breathed in. A dragging at her hand and a sudden lack of air confirmed that the seal was tight. Lizzy did the same thing, and pulled a set of heavy gloves on.

They made a new path of footprints up to the mall. No one had been here since the snow fell. A disabled arc pylon stood in the empty hall, snow piled up around its base. Shattered glass crunched under their feet.

Cecelia looked around, trying to imagine this place before the plague. When rich people would come in their fancy clothes and buy more fancy clothes. It must've been something to see.

The mill was situated off one side of the mall. The snow in the yard was unblemished. There were small snowdrifts everywhere, casting faint shadows in the morning light.

It was only when Cecelia nearly tripped over one that she realized that these drifts concealed frozen bodies.

She jumped back with a yelp. Lizzy caught her back and steadied her. "Only gonna get worse from here, Rat Scrap," she said grimly. "You sure you wanna be here for this?"

Cecelia took a breath. Luckily, the mask didn't let any odors through. "I'm ok," she said. Lizzy nodded.

They cracked open the door to the production floor, and it was much worse.

Bodies were lying all over the floor, contorted in pain. There was a faint haze still hanging in the air. Lizzy found a brick and propped the door open. "Gotta air this shit out," she said. "Go around, open all the windows."

They worked their way through the floors of the mill, letting in the sunshine and the cold and a flake or two of snow. There were so many bodies. Mostly Hatters, dressed in their absurd fashion, but there were others too. Workers. People who never deserved this fate.

They pulled the bodies out to the yard and lined them up in the snow. Cecelia wished they had some sort of way to cover them up, but there wasn't enough fabric. Not yet. She had to keep reminding herself what the goal was here.

By afternoon, they'd gotten to the upper floors. The most gruesome sight of all was an ancient, wrinkled man sitting in a chair. Cecelia privately thought he looked like a Weeper.

"The Geezer," Lizzy explained. "He led the Hatters for years. And then there's this." She kicked a second corpse on the floor. This one had been shot in the back of the head. Blood was crusted in the man's hair. "His nurse," Lizzy spat. "He confined the old man to this chair and quietly took over the gang himself. He doesn't deserve to be burned with the others."

Cecelia picked up a scrap of paper on the desk next to the Geezer's chair. She quickly skimmed it. _If Mr. Hat perishes, you will release a toxic gas_ … "He rigged this thing up to himself?" she asked, disgusted. "He'd kill his entire gang?"

"Lemme see." Lizzy snatched the note. "Nah," she said. "I'm guessing it was the nurse. A bit of insurance, to make sure that if he couldn't be in control, then nobody could." She sighed and let the note flutter to the floor. "Hat deserved better than this," she said. "When I started docking at Draper's, he gave me the password to their door and told me to come visit him sometime. Never took him up on it. I should've."

She reached out with a gloved hand and closed the old man's eyes. "At least he gets the satisfaction that Nurse Trimble bit it first," she said.

The experiments they found in Trimble's laboratory were probably going to give Cecelia nightmares. Vivisecting a plague rat was one thing. Hooking an old man up to a machine to prolong his life while letting his body decay in place was another. "I can't take any more of this," she said. "We can clean it out later. The factory machines are the most important part right now."

Lizzy nodded. "Let's take a break. This is a good start. We'll burn the bodies tonight."

As they left the mill, walking past the rows of dead, there was a shouting from the waterfront. Lizzy glanced at Cecelia, pulled off her mask, and broke into a run.

Cecelia followed, stumbling over her heavy Whaler clothing. Soon enough she was panting, struggling to take full breaths through the mask. She pulled it off and left it behind in the snow.

The _Undine_ was docked, most of the crates unloaded by now. A few Eels were milling around. Lizzy was huddled over someone.

As Cecelia approached, Lizzy straightened up. Cecelia was able to fully take in the scene.

Tessa was being held up between two larger men, her face a ghastly white. Blood covered her one side. Cecelia clapped a hand to her mouth. "What _happened?_ "

"Trouble at the soup tent," one of the men said. Lizzy darted in and swapped spots with him, holding Tessa up.

Tessa coughed, and winced. "Freak with a gun. Got me right in the side when I tried to get people out of the way."

"Is everyone else all right?" Lizzy asked.

One of the men—he had to be from Bottle Street, Cecelia didn't recognize his tattoos—shrugged. "They were getting things under control when I left," he said. "I think he was paid by someone. Someone who wants our efforts shut down."

Tessa groaned. Cecelia rushed forward and took the other man's place, slung Tessa's arm over her shoulder. "Come on," she said. "Let's get you inside."

They pulled Tessa to the warehouse. Tessa breathed out a sigh of relief when the warm air hit them. "HARRISON!" Lizzy screamed.

An Eel who'd accompanied them in shuffled his feet.

"Harrison!" Lizzy called again.

"Uh, Boss—"

Cecelia looked back and forth, from the Eel to Lizzy to Tessa, whose eyes were closed in pain.

"Fuck," Lizzy whispered suddenly. "Shit." She groaned, and looked up. "Tina!" she called. "Get your ass out here, gunshot wound!"

They dragged Tessa to the back corner of the warehouse, where a couple of folding screens disguised a makeshift infirmary. A small woman with dark skin and a badly scarred face rushed out to meet them. "Put her on her side," the woman said. As soon as Tessa was lying on one of the cots, she began pulling away Tessa's clothing. "Go away," she said, not looking up. "I need space."

They retreated.

All plans for the mill were forgotten for the day. The _Undine_ was dispatched back to Clavering to be on hand to clean up from the soup tent. Lizzy vanished somewhere. The few Eels who remained on hand just huddled in small groups and fidgeted. Cecelia put her time to use by going back to the mill and counting how much fabric was left in the dry storage.

Everyone came back from the soup tent in low spirits. The warehouse was quiet that night. Cecelia couldn't stand it. She retired to the hold, folded herself up in blankets in the hammock, and lay there, rocking back and forth in the darkness.

Maybe a few hours later, she could hear voices coming from the front of the hold. "—sure you're ok?"

"No!" Lizzy's voice. "I'm not ok. Why would I be fucking ok? Nothing about this is ok. And I'm sick of everyone trying to pretend it is."

"We're just trying to help." Cecelia recognized the voice as Big Pete.

"I don't want your fucking help," Lizzy snarled. "So fuck off."

"You weren't like this when Jaime died."

"Jaime made his own choices!" Lizzy snapped. "Harrison's death is my fault. All because I couldn't see what was going on right under my nose—"

"That's not fair." Big Pete paused for a moment. "That's not fair to anyone, Lee. He died well. And he died knowing that Wakefield wasn't going to last a week in charge. And he wouldn't want you to blame yourself—"

"I don't fucking know what he would want, because he's dead. We're done, ok? End of discussion."

There was silence, then some shuffling. A light flared up. Cecelia closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep.

She could feel the hammock tilt as Lizzy climbed in next to her, and she could feel the wetness on Lizzy's cheeks as she pressed herself to Cecelia's side.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends! I want to ask a question: would y'all prefer regularly scheduled updates, even if it means I can't begin to make them regular for some time, or just chapters popped up as done?
> 
> I generally prefer to adhere to a schedule, but I don't have enough of a buffer written right now to do that, so it'd be a while before I can make regular updates. On the other hand, writing can be lonely, and I like to get feedback as I go. So I wanna hear what you guys think!
> 
> In the meantime, enjoy the chapter. :D Not sure when I'll see y'all back, but Outsider willing, it'll be sooner rather than later!

Lizzy was gone when she woke up.

Cecelia pulled the blankets even tighter around herself, and shivered. The hammock rocked gently with the motion of the water. A few rays of cold light illuminated the hold.

She eventually made her way above deck. It was snowing again, light but steady. Cecelia blew on her hands to warm them up, and headed for the warehouse.

The mood was subdued. A lot of people were asleep. Lincoln was sitting at a table by himself, cards dancing through his hands.

Cecelia plopped down next to him. "Where's Lizzy?" Her voice was hoarse.

Lincoln paused, the cards fluttering down into a perfect stack. "She's at the Distillery. Wanted to talk with Slackjaw." He looked up at her. "I'm sorry, Rat Scrap. I don't know if we're going to keep going with this."

Cecelia bit back a sigh and balled her hands into fists. "Is Tessa ok?"

"I think so. Tina wouldn't let anyone see her. You could have a go at trying, but Tina can be mighty stubborn."

"Thanks."

She made her way back to the infirmary, and lightly tapped on the edge of the folding screen.

"I said no! You people never listen!"

Cecelia peeked her head around the screen. Tina sat in a ratty chair, looking ready to throw a pair of bandage scissors in Cecelia's direction. Tessa lay in the cot beside her, turned on her side, her face pale. She broke into a weak grin. "'Ey, Rat Scrap."

 "You're ok." Cecelia was able to smile.

"Hell yeah, girl." Tessa squirmed. "I guess the bullet just stuck in my ribs. Hurts like hell." She gestured with one arm. "Come on, Tina. A few minutes won't hurt anything."

Tina crossed her arms. "Fine. A few minutes."

Cecelia sat down on the end of the cot. "I was worried."

"Hey. I'm tougher than I look."

"And damn lucky, too," Tina said. "A few inches in either direction, and your body would be floating in the Wren this morning."

"Was it a Watchman?" Cecelia asked. "Like last time?"

Tessa shook her head. "Nah. This was worse. There were a bunch of them. I think the Bottle Street crew eventually took 'em out, but not before people got scared out of their wits. The whole thing was a bust. I dunno if people will come back after this."

She paused, and shifted in the cot with a wince. "I wouldn't blame 'em either. This was an outfit. I'm guessing they were hired by some noble who didn't like people not coming to them for help." She coughed. "No good."

"Breathe," Tina instructed as Tessa coughed. "You need to breathe normally. Prevents infection."

"I'm tryin'," Tessa said. "Just fucking hurts."

Cecelia ran a hand over her face. "This shouldn't've happened. I'm sorry."

"Hey." Tessa's eyes softened. "Not your fault, Rat Scrap. We all get that this is important, we all wanted to go out there and do something. We just—gotta figure out how to keep the spoilsports away."

"That reminds me." Cecelia sat back. "I heard Lizzy talking last night. Who was Harrison?"

Tina's face hardened, and Tessa closed her eyes.

"I—I'm sorry. I just—Lizzy was really—"

"Yeah," Tessa muttered, "I know."

"Harrison was our medic," Tina said, her posture stiff. "And he was my teacher."

"One of the Boss's original crew," Tessa added. "Good guy. Really quiet, but tough. Kept us in line, and patched us up anyway when we didn't listen to him."

"I couldn't be a prostitute because of my face," Tina said, and Cecelia paused and took in the scarring again. "So I doctored the whores instead. I would still be on the streets if Harrison hadn't picked me up and trained me."

"What happened to him?"

Tessa leaned over the edge of the bed and spat. Tina glared at her. "Wakefield," Tessa said, her voice full of venom.

"Oh." Cecelia still hadn't learned all the details of the mutiny, but it seemed like it'd torn the Eels apart in more ways than one.

"He was rooting out the Boss's most loyal people after he took over," Tessa continued. "Harrison and Big Pete were at the top of the list. He knew they'd die for Lizzy."

"So he approached them right after the Boss was taken," Tina added. "Lined them up on the deck in front of all of us and determined to make an example of them."

"He shot Harrison," Tessa said. "BAM. Right in the head. Big Pete was going to be next, but he just turned and dove over the gunwale and swam off. Wakefield was furious—all screaming that anyone who stepped out of line would be next."

"I thought he was going to shoot someone else in Big Pete's place," Tina said, her voice low. "It was terrifying. And no one dared stand up to him."

Tessa groaned. "I think we all have our regrets over that clusterfuck. We owe everything to Daud. Boss was going to be executed, and we would've been fucked. But he saved Lizzy."

"He saved all of us," Tina murmured. "And look what he got for it."

"Corvo," Cecelia whispered. She buried her head in her hands. She wasn't responsible for what Corvo had done—logically, she knew that—but it hurt all the same, that someone she had put her trust in had affected her friends in such a way.

They were silent for a few moments.

"I'd thought the Boss was ok," Tessa eventually said. "Well—not _ok_ , but getting better. Things are finally moving again. It looked like we might be able to crawl out of this mess, with Slackjaw's help. But now—I dunno. I dunno."

"We pick up, and keep moving," Tina said. "That is all you can do when things go wrong."

 

It was snowing steadily when Lizzy came back. She stomped into the warehouse, leaving a trail of snow in her wake, shaking the white off her jacket.

All the Eels glanced over at her, and seeing the look on her face, decided not to engage.

Lizzy plopped down at her desk and scrubbed her hands over her face, then looked up. "Rat Scrap, Big Pete. Get your asses over here."

Cecelia glanced at Big Pete, and they made their way up to the desk, cautiously.

Lizzy motioned them in. "I talked with Slackjaw," she murmured. "And he took full responsibility for not putting enough of his people on guard duty. We're gonna keep going, but this time, show some actual force."

"This wise, Lee?"

Lizzy snorted. "I ask myself that every day. Nah," she shrugged. "Slackjaw thinks we've set enough people on the streets talking. And hoping. I wasn't too wild about sticking with this plan, but we're gonna do it." She looked and Cecelia. "He was askin' where you were, Rat Scrap. Seems to think you're my new second-in-command or something."

"Well, ain't she?" Big Pete asked.

Cecelia's eyes widened, and she glanced between Lizzy and Big Pete. Lizzy poked her tongue into her cheek. "Yeah," she said eventually, "maybe." She leaned forward. "Anyway, we're gonna have a proper funeral for the Hatters tonight. Saved a tank of whale oil for the occasion. Then tomorrow, back to work."

Big Pete nodded and left. Cecelia stayed, and sat on the edge of the desk. "Did you mean that?" she asked.

"Mean what? About you being my second-in-command?" Lizzy shrugged. "I dunno. After Wakefield, I'd rather not have that title floatin' around at all. Not that I don't trust you. Just…"

"I understand," Cecelia said, and reached out, took Lizzy's hand.

Lizzy looked down at where their hands were joined. "Good. So," she said, standing, dropping Cecelia's hand, "Wanna go work on the mill some more? Ain't gonna clean itself out."

 

That night, everyone gathered in the mill yard. The snow had stopped. All the bodies were all mottled with white, hair and fabric ruffled by a small breeze.

Lizzy stood holding a tank of whale oil, which lent her face an unearthly glow, casting strange shadows. "All right," she said. "I know the Hatters weren't our favorite people. But they were a powerful gang back in the day, and old Hat turned Draper's Ward into the place to be. We wouldn't have half the infrastructure at the shipping yard if it weren't for Hat and his vision. So we owe them a debt. And our respect."

She opened the valve on the tank of whale oil and poured it over the bodies, careful to make sure each one got some of the accelerant.

They all stood in silence as Lizzy walked up and down the rows of the dead, watching as the oil left a gleaming trail in her wake. Cecelia shivered in the cold.

Lizzy finally ran out of oil and tossed the tank aside. "Big Pete," she said. "Wanna do the honors?"

Without a word, Big Pete struck a match and tossed it at the bodies. The oil went up with an audible whoosh, and Cecelia gasped at the sudden heat on her face.

"May their spirits fade and merge with the Cosmos," Lizzy intoned. "Except for Trimble. Outsider take that bastard."

Cecelia bowed her head, and when she closed her eyes, she could see the afterimage of the flames in her vision.

 

The fire was still burning when Cecelia woke up in the early hours of the morning. She was glad to leave the plume of smoke behind for the soup tent.

Slackjaw had made good on his promise; there were many more Bottle Street boys than usual. They patrolled around the waterfront, cracking knuckles and scowling.

There were fewer people than even the first time they'd done it. But still, people came, bracing themselves against the bitter wind, not looking the gang members in the eye. Given hot soup and a quiet promise that soup would be there in the days to come.

Cecelia worked in the tent, chopping carrots and keeping an eye out. Everyone worked quickly and quietly, subdued. The atmosphere felt more like it had under Burrow's rule; wary and fearful.

But still, the soup got dished out. They picked up a little steam in the afternoon, word having got out that the soup tent was there, and was safer.

At least, until the sound of boots on pavement met their ears.

Cecelia looked up. Everyone paused in their work. The people who were in line waiting for soup hesitated, weighing or not whether to flee. But they didn't, because fleeing an Overseer was a sure sign of witchcraft.

The lead Overseer carried some contraption strapped to his chest. He and his cohorts bypassed the line entirely, marching right up to the tent.

Lizzy looked up from stirring the big kettle of soup. "Overseers," she said, her voice neutral. "What can I do for you?"

"We here on behalf of the Abbey of the Everyman," the leader said. His voice didn't seem muted by the mask, if anything, it was clear and sharp. "Even in these chaotic times, the Abbey must keep order."

Lizzy nodded. "I understand. You'll find no witchcraft here. I'm a pious woman, Overseer, and I don't hold with that nonsense."

"Do you and your…crew hold to the Strictures?" The Overseer pronounced the word "crew" in the same tone of voice one might use for "manure".

"Of course," Lizzy replied. "We work hard for our bread. Our hands are not restless, nor our minds errant. Tell me, Overseer, has a new High Overseer been selected? We of course look to the Abbey in these troubled times, and the silence on your part has been, well, troubling."

Cecelia held her breath. Lizzy was playing with fire now. She remembered all too well how her old neighbor had been dragged away when he'd dared cheek an Overseer.

The Overseer squirmed. "The Feast of Painted Kettles was called in Whitecliff," he responded. "Dunwall is no longer the seat of the Abbey."

A ripple of shock ran through the crowd.

The Overseers looked at each other, and one nodded.

The leader reached for the handle on his strange contraption, and began to crack it. An unearthly tune rang out, and the crowd went still.

Lizzy tilted her head. "Well that's an interesting sound you've got there," she commented. "Are you satisfied? There are no witches here. Just people doing what they have to to try and survive."

The Overseer nodded. "In the future, we will be stationing people here to assure that order is kept."

Lizzy grinned. "We can always use more hands. We're here every other day, all day. We're glad to have the Abbey's support."

With that, the Overseers turned and marched away, leaving one behind, stationed off to the side of the crowd.

Cecelia was sweating. "That was amazing," she whispered to Lizzy.

Lizzy shrugged. "I'd rather have them with us than against us," she said, and went back to stirring the soup.


End file.
